


Places That We Knew

by wbss21



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Child Abuse, Depression, F/M, Friendship, Isolation, Neglect, Romanace, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2018-11-05 07:43:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 56
Words: 216,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11008998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wbss21/pseuds/wbss21
Summary: He is, by far, the quietest man she has ever met.A story about the friendship and eventual relationship between Vegeta and Bulma, and a character study of Vegeta through the examination of his childhood.





	1. Chapter 1

AN: Hey guys, I'm reposting this story with some editorial changes. I wanted to rearrange some of the flashback sequences and tweak a few things, so here it is again.

/////////////////////////////////////

He is, by far, the quietest man she has ever met.

Not in that standoffish, hyper masculine way so many young men adopt, trying to convey a cool indifference to everything around them, though Bulma has little doubt Vegeta plays that game frequently. 

It isn't that though, the quietness of him. 

She's been watching him for several months now, closely. Ever since he came back to Earth after being away for so many more, searching outer space for Goku and returning empty handed.

Bulma's been watching him, and she's certain Vegeta has likely never known any manner of relationship beyond those of convenience, or, more often still, she thinks, those of desperation. Never known real companionship. It's something no one else has paused to consider, she thinks. The brutality of the life he's lived. A life made up only of unforgiving violence, both against others and against himself. A life composed of a day to day, frantic struggle just to survive. A life of oppression and subjugation.

It doesn't excuse the atrocities he's committed. Doesn't excuse, even, some might say, his decidedly sour and plainly rude personality. 

But, Bulma thinks, it does give a reason for it.

How else would one expect him to act, she wonders, when he's never known anything but cruelty and coldness since birth?

He doesn't know how to talk to people. She doesn't think he understands it when he's being rude, or unfriendly, or even threatening. Certainly, he doesn't understand the concept of friendship. 

He spends almost every minute of the day in the training capsule. When he isn't there, he sits in the small guest room she's provided him, sleeping or simply being. Whenever she's gone to look in on him, she's found him usually seated cross legged on the floor, staring, mute and motionless, at his lap.

It's unusual for him to speak more than two words to anyone during the course of the entire day and night.

Bulma thinks he must be the loneliest person she's ever seen.

Yamcha thinks she's insane when she confides in him that she feels sorry for the Saiyan prince.

“Don't say that to him.” He's told her countless times. “Not unless you want to end up dead.”

She just rolls her eyes at him and tells him not to worry, that she isn't stupid.

And she isn't. She doesn't mistake her sympathy for Vegeta with an underestimation of him. She knows he's dangerous. Knows, especially, his pride to be a powerful thing. Something which, if challenged, would more likely than anything set him off on a destructive path.

He isn't the sort of man to take kindly to anyone feeling sorry for him.

But Bulma does.

She can't help it.

His quickness to anger too, she thinks, is nothing more than defensive. That pride, again. He grows furious, she's noticed, when he doesn't understand something. When confronted with something which leaves him confused or lost. 

He often grows angry with her for that very reason. 

He isn't used to others reacting towards him with anything other than fear or disgust, likely. The fact she speaks to him like a human being, well... She can see it unsettles him.

Something about that alone makes her heart feel heavy.

She watches him now through the kitchen window.

He's made a rare appearance outside the training capsule, sitting at the patio table outside, staring up at the sky.

He does that a lot too, she's noticed. Stares at the sky like he's searching for something up there.

It occurs to her suddenly that he might be hungry, or thirsty or something, considering he's been putting himself through that insane training he does every day since before the sun had come up, and she decides with little more thought to bring him some lunch.

It only takes her a few minutes to put together a sandwich and a glass of lemonade, and she carries it all out to the patio on a tray, making her way towards the table he's sitting at.

He glances at her as she approaches, and she can't miss the way his whole frame abruptly tenses before he quickly looks away again, eyes fixing now on the grass, his arms crossed tight over his chest.

He looks for all the world like he wishes his chair would swallow him whole.

It's a bizarre contrast to the overwhelming confidence he exudes when fighting.

“Hey'a Vegeta.” Bulma greets, smiling broadly as she steps up to the table, setting the tray down on its surface.

He doesn't answer her, doesn't look at her again, keeping his eyes away.

Bulma doesn't let it deter her.

“I thought you must be pretty famished, so I made you some lunch.” She goes on, pulling a seat out for herself and sitting.

That finally wins a glance from him, his eyes sliding back and fixing on the tray of food for an instant before again slipping away.

She watches him back, his crossed arms tightening further over his chest, his frame seeming to wined somehow tighter.

If this was Goku, he would have already inhaled the entire platter of food. Bulma doesn't doubt that Vegeta has a comparable apatite. He is a Saiyan, after all. She's never seen him eat, but the fact she finds the icebox half empty of all it's food every morning is evidence enough. 

“Don't be weird.” She says flatly, pushing the tray closer to him. “I know your hungry.”

His jaw visibly clenches.

“What do you want?” He finally speaks, and Bulma smiles.

She likes his voice.

Contradictorally soft spoken, almost soothing in tone and pitch. It's strange, hearing such a voice from such a violent man.

Bulma shrugs in reply to his question.

“I'm bored. And you're hungry. Don't deny it. So lets help each other.”

Vegeta finally turns to look at her, his nearly black eyes fixed on her with an awful intensity. The gaze would, Bulma thinks, frighten most anyone else off. She refuses it. He isn't the monster he pretends to be. She's nearly certain of it.

“What makes you think I would need or want your help?” He asks bluntly, sneering at her.

Bulma laughs, and she really should listen to the voice in the back of her head telling her it's a bad idea to laugh at this man in any circumstance, but she can't really help it. She can't help thinking he's cute.

Yamcha would really think she's nuts if he knew what she was thinking now.

But then, Yamcha really had no standing to chastise her for checking out another guy. Not when he oogled and drooled over every other woman they passed by on the street.

There had been too many times when Bulma had suspected it was more than just ooggling, but she didn't want to think about that right now.

“Don't laugh at me!” Vegeta predictably snaps, standing abruptly from his seat, slamming his palms down on the table.

The thing groans ominously, the platter of food trembling with it, and Bulma leans back in her seat, blinking up at him, laughter dying in her throat.

He's glaring at her with deathly anger, his face tight with rage, and Bulma bites down on her lip, her mind screaming at her to stop it.

He isn't some cuddly, adorable puppy. She knows that.

But for all her logical reasoning tells her so, she can't help but notice what an example of contradictions he is either.

He's so small.

Certainly he's physically powerful. One could tell that just to look at the tightly corded muscle of his arms, his wide shoulders and thick calves. He looks, actually, stronger than Goku. Only he's terribly short. She doesn't think taller than her, and she doesn't think he weighs much more either, whereas Goku is so tall and long. 

It's a bizarre contrast to how powerful she knows he actually is. She isn't stupid enough to let that mislead her on that front.

“I wasn't laughing at you.” She manages to make herself say, stamping down the shot of fear which had abruptly ceased her. “Just the situation. I mean...” she swallows, shaking her head. “you nearly killed everyone on this planet just barely over a year ago, and now...”

She trails off when she sees his face growing more and more tense, and suddenly he straightens, looking down at her, features twisted in frustrated confusion.

“Why do you speak to me?” He at once asks.

She blinks, thrown by the way his anger seems to have abruptly dissipated.

“I'm sorry?” She asks.

“Why do you speak to me?” He says again, impatient. “All the others wish nothing to do with me. They're afraid of me, as they should be. Either you're incredibly stupid or incredibly brave. Do you not understand what I am?”

Bulma stares back at him a long moment, not knowing what to say.

“... You're a man.” She eventually stammers out.

“No.” Vegeta hisses, leaning forward again. “I am no man. I am a Saiyan prince. Born to a single purpose. The death and destruction of lesser, weaker races of beings. You would do well, woman, to avoid me at all costs.”

“And you would do well to stop being such a massive asshole!” Bulma snaps, voice raising sharply as an unexpected shot of anger rolls through her. She can barely hear the voice in the back of her brain telling her this is a bad idea. 

Apparently, Vegeta hadn't expected it either.

He straightens back up, blinking, staring back at her with, for a moment, an astonished expression.

Bulma seizes her opportunity.

“I invited you to stay in my home, eat my food. Gave you shelter, somewhere warm and safe to sleep, and all you can do is complain and sulk and act like you're doing everyone a favor by not murdering them. Well I've got news for you pal, my hospitality is starting to really wear thin. Anymore bullshit out of you and I'll throw you and your bad attitude out on the street. See how long you last out there without any money, without a job or any friends. I promise you, no one else is going to take you in. Everyone hates you.”

Vegeta starts, eyes widening like he's just been slapped. He looks almost... hurt.

Bulma blinks, realizing what she's just said, and immediately, stupidly, guilt seizes hold of her. She hadn't... meant to be so blunt. Hadn't meant to say all of that.

She opens her mouth to say something, but Vegeta suddenly steps back, the stunned expression on his face twisting into a scowl.

“You think I care?” He spits, voice dipping threateningly low. “I have no need of your hospitality, or what you like to make yourself feel superior by calling kindness. I have lived the entirety of my life on my own, surviving in environments which make the harshest climates of this pathetic little planet of yours seem like a positive paradise in comparison. So do not presume to tell me of my ability to manage without your intervention. I could destroy this planet and all the pitiable forms of life upon it if it took my fancy to do so!”

“Well you shouldn't do that,” Bulma screams back, her momentary guilt washing quickly away. “because then you wouldn't have any friends!”

Vegeta lets loose a furious roar, his hands coming down in fists against the table top, the thing exploding and collapsing into a pile of twisted wood and plastic.

Bulma lets loose a genuine cry of fear this time, stumbling backwards out of her chair and landing hard on her bottom against the hard packed grass.

She stares up with horrified eyes as he steps toward her, his hands clenched to fists at his sides.

Instinctively, Bulma shrinks back, throwing her hands up, expecting some sort of attack.

But Vegeta only stands there, glaring down at her, his chest heaving in fury.

Bulma closes her eyes, terrified, and suddenly she hears Yamacha's voice ring out across the yard.

“HEY!” He yells. “Get the fuck away from her!”

Bulma knows it's irrational, knows, in reality, if Vegeta wanted to, he could kill both her and Yamcha with incredible ease, but she can't help the relief she feels at hearing her boyfriends voice.

It's followed a moment after by the sound of fast approaching footfall, and she turns, seeing Yamcha dashing toward them, toward Vegeta.

Vegeta doesn't even seem to realize he's there, doesn't turn to acknowledge him at all, keeping his blazing eyes fixed on Bulma.

Bulma realizes too late what's going to happen, and her mouth comes open to cry to Yamcha to stop, but her voice is trapped in her throat and nothing comes out.

It's like some slow motion nightmare when she blinks and Vegeta is no longer standing where he had been. When she sees him somehow, impossibly, standing right before Yamcha, his fist buried in her boyfriend's abdomen, Yamcha's face frozen in a mask of pain, saliva dripping thick from his lower lip. His eyes are wide with shock and fear, and finally Bulma's voice comes back to her, and she screams.

Vegeta steps back and Yamcha collapses to his knees, his arms coming up and wrapping round his stomach, a breathless wheeze rattling from his throat.

Bulma watches in paralyzed fear as the Saiyan turns towards her, staring at her in stony silence, and she feels certain then she's next.

She ducks down, throwing her hands over her head at the sudden, deafening burst of sound and the powerful whoosh of air, nearly knocking her to her back.

It takes her long seconds of nothing happening before she finds the courage to lower her arms and push herself up.

When she allows herself to look, Vegeta is already gone.

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

“How old is the boy?” 

Vegeta stands beside his father, arms folded tight over his chest, glaring deathly and unflinching up at the bizarre creature who has come to their home world, has been here the last several weeks, holding court with the King of Vegetasei, private meetings and sessions which the prince himself has not been allowed to attend.

Vegeta had expected his father to do away with the lizard-like buffoon by now, as he always did with any who came not knowing their place. 

Only, when he had asked his father about it finally, only yesterday, the king had snapped at him, had lifted a hand, reared back, as though he were going to slap him.

Father had slapped him before, when Vegeta hadn't done as he was told, or hadn't shown sufficient progress in his training...

Still, a slap from the most powerful warrior among the Saiyan people was an awful experience, and Vegeta had flinched back, frightened, shame burning his face for the way he coward, but he couldn't help it.

Only his father hadn't slapped him. He'd kept his hand raised for long seconds, staring at his only son with a look upon his face which Vegeta did not recognize, and that, somehow, had frightened the boy only more.

“You remember our discussions boy?” The King had finally spoken, lowering his arm. “You remember of the legend I've spoken to you? The legend of the Super Saiyan?”

Vegeta had nodded, a familiar sense of awe and wonderment filling him, as always did whenever Father spoke of the legendary Super Saiyan. Whenever Father told him that he and he alone would be capable of achieving such power.

“You show such great promise Vegeta. Your power already greater than most of my armies military elite. The day is not long in coming when your power will surpass even my own.”

Vegeta had swallowed hard at the constant reminder, the constant expectation.

He still could not dream of such a possibility. That anyone could ever be stronger than his father. 

“You will one day become the savior of our people, my son. If ever I have believed in anything, it is in that. It is in you.”

Vegeta hadn't understood the odd show of sentiment. Hadn't understood the emotion in his father's voice, when his father had always been so hard... so cold.

The king had told him then that there was to be one final meeting with Freiza, the name of the creature who had come to their world, before the being finally departed back into space. Vegeta had felt an odd relief at the news. Though he had never had direct contact with the lizard, only seen him in glimpses and at a distance, behind closing doors, there was something about him which had unsettled the prince... had made him feel something too much like fear. He didn't understand why. His father could have destroyed whoever was foolish enough to make threats against their people. 

As he hadn't understood when the king had told him he would be needed tomorrow in the final meeting with Freiza. 

Was Father finally going to challenge the creature to battle? Did he wish Vegeta to prove himself a capable warrior by fighting beside him? He was nearly five, nearly of an age when Saiyan warriors were considered ready for active combat.

He's pulled from his recent memories by the sound of his father's voice, answering Freiza's question.

“The boy is four, eight moon cycles from five.” The King says.

Vegeta struggles against the urge to grab hold of his father's hand, to hide himself behind him as the creatures red, pinpoint eyes bore into him, an unpleasant smile twisting his purpled lips, his face white as death.

Instead the prince stands his ground, forcing himself to look back, defiant and disgusted. 

Why does the lizard-thing need to know his age anyway?

Why is he interested at all?

“Very good.” Freiza replies, voice smooth and soft, his smile widening as he continues to regard Vegeta. “Very, very good.”

The creature takes a step forward then, towards him, and Vegeta feels his father stiffen beside him, sees him step to put himself between Freiza and his son.

It's an absolute shock, then, when the lizard reaches out and shoves the king aside as easily as one might a child, Vegeta's father stumbling as he loses his balance, leaving the boy exposed to Freiza's approach.

Vegeta stands frozen a moment, his mind blanking out as he struggles to understand what just happened.

It's all the time necessary for the creature to close the small distance between them, and in the next instant, he has his hands on Vegeta, taking hold of his chin and jerking his head up to look at him.

Vegeta instinctively tries to pull away, a snarl coming up from his throat, the words forming on his tongue, ready to demand from the lizard how he dare to place his filthy hands on the Prince of the Saiyan people. Only the words die in his throat as he feels the crushing strength of Freiza, his powerful fingers grasping so hard, Vegeta is certain a moment his jaw will be shattered, whatever attempt to break free dissolving into nothing as he's held easily in place.

Fear paralyzes him then. 

He doesn't understand what's happening.

“A little small, isn't he?” Freiza says, bending down to examine the prince more closely. “Are all you monkey's this size at his age?”

King Vegeta turns, his face a mask of barely controlled rage as he looks on at the lizard handling his son, his mouth a tight line of obvious hatred.

Several seconds pass without an answer, and Freiza at last straightens, looking back over his shoulder at the king.

“... He's small for his age.” He finally answers, voice clipped. “He'll grow.”

“Oh, I certainly hope so. You're certain of his power level? Even I was bigger as a child. He can't weigh more than twenty pounds.”

The king's face remains impassive, revealing nothing beyond the hatred in his eyes.

“The boy is nearly as powerful as I am.” He answers flatly.

Freiza clicks his tongue, laughing lowly.

“Not very impressive, then.” He says, amusement thick in his voice.

What? Vegeta thinks, his fear instantly evaporating, replaced by a sudden, consuming rage.

How dare... how dare this thing speak to his father in such a way, how dare he speak so to the King of the Saiyans... 

Unbidden, Vegeta feels his power surge, exploding out of him.

It's a large enough expense of ki that it should have blown Freiza clean away from him. It had done, to other, full grown men whom Vegeta had begun to train with, learning his first, basic fundamental's. 

Freiza's grip doesn't come loose. No step backward even. Like he hadn't been hit with anything at all.

The eruption of anger dies instantly away at the amused grin the lizard wears, along with it his display of power, and with the realization of what's just happened, fear, real fear, is quick to follow.

The smile is all the warning he gets.

Something hits him across the face, though what he doesn't know. He never saw any movement.

Only knows one moment he'd been standing there, and now he was sprawled on his back, smashed up against the back wall, the world spinning in sickening circles around him, pain like fire searing through his jaw, up into the back of his skull and radiating down into his spine. He tastes blood, thick on his tongue, pouring down his throat, and he feels sick.

He can't breathe.

It takes long seconds for him to understand that the noise of desperate, strangled gasps is coming from himself.

“Vegeta!” He thinks he hears this father's voice, more distressed than he's ever heard it before, and then the sound of the creatures loud laughter, echoing off the walls of his skull, making the pain somehow worse.

“Consider that your first lesson, little monkey. Had I wished it, you would already be dead.”


	2. Chapter 2

A week goes by without Bulma seeing or hearing from Vegeta at all, and she's beginning to think he's taken off for good this time.

In one way, she feels relieved at the thought.

Yamcha had been worse for wear after taking the blow he had from the Saiyan, and it had been obvious from the damage that Vegeta had meant to hurt him.

At the same time, Bulma knew, if he'd really wanted, Vegeta could have killed her and Yamcha both without even breaking a sweat. Yet he hadn't...

She hasn't told a living soul, but whatever relief she feels at the thought of Vegeta being gone is ceaselessly crushed under a bitter sense of disappointment and even sadness.

She can't begin to understand it herself.

She likes him, and she doesn't even know why.

There's nothing to like, she tells herself. He's an asshole. No, more than that. He's dangerous, volatile and violent. She must be mad if she thinks they could actually be friends, or... anything, really.

But then, every time she tries to use that logic, her mind takes her immediately back to that time, right after he'd nearly blown himself to pieces using the gravity room, training like a driven madman.

He'd passed out right in front of her, after refusing her help, or admitting to being hurt at all. He would have kept going, if he could have. That much was obvious to her. Whether it killed him or not didn't seem to mater to him at all.

She'd gotten him into one of the houses spare bedroom's with Yamcha's help, and it had struck Bulma, as she'd helped to lift the Saiyan prince onto the bed, just how little he weighed. She thought, though it would have been an obvious effort, she could have picked him up by herself, he seemed to weigh hardly more than a child. Seemed hardly larger than one, cradled there in Yamcha's arms.

Something about the sight of him, lying unconscious and vulnerable on that bed, as she'd carefully gone about tending his wounds and wrapping the horrible burns he'd suffered, had made her heart sink to the very pit of her stomach. She hadn't been able to bring herself to leave him, despite Yamcha's persistent begging that she not put herself at risk by staying alone in a room with the unpredictable man.

Finally, her boyfriend had given up, leaving her be.

It hadn't been long after that Vegeta had begun talking in his unconscious state, and some of the things he'd said... The sounds of absolute terror he'd made...

Bulma knew she'd never forget it, any of it, as long as she lived.

He'd mumbled to himself of horrors which seemed scarcely possible, spoke of living nightmares and tragedies, sufferings and degradation.

He'd cried out in a strangled, terrorized voice the name of Freiza, his face lining even in sleep with deep anxiety, and Bulma's eyes had wandered over the dozens of scars littering the young man's body, evidence of physical trauma the likes of which she'd never seen. Even Goku, who fought constantly, bore few scars of any kind.

By contrast, Vegeta's body looked as though it had been subjected to constant and cruel brutality, beatings and torture.

If the fear with which he spoke Frieza's name was any indication, Bulma had had little doubt as to who held responsibility for it.

He called out too for a father, which had taken Bulma completely aback at first, shocked, though later she would wonder why it would shock her so. Of course Vegeta must have had a family... at one point in his life.

Vegeta had muttered obsessively too about Goku, words promising desperately that he would surpass him, that he was the prince of his race, that there was simply no way, no way possible that a lower class warrior could have more power, could be better.

Bulma knew that was the reason for his nearly masochistic training regimen. Knew that was why he pushed himself so absurdly hard.

She couldn't help feeling sorry for him. There was something sad about it all.

Couldn't help, either, admiring him, in a strange way.

He wouldn't compromise... wouldn't give up... no matter the odds against him.

Everyone else who had ever competed against Goku had given up at that point. They knew they would never catch him.

Vegeta wouldn't allow himself that failure.

Bulma suspected Vegeta would never allow himself any failure. It was do or die with him, all the way.

That took tremendous courage. Bulma could admit that, even if no one else could.

She shakes her head, trying to clear her mind of the thoughts, running a hand back through her hair as she heads towards the kitchen, taking a break in her work for the day.

She can't stop the strangled gasp that escapes from her lips, nor the shot of adrenaline fueled fear which works through her as she pushes open the door and sees Vegeta sitting there at the kitchen table, surrounded by what looks like at least half the kitchens food stock.

He's eating rapidly, his head bowed down in concentration, though it immediately strikes Bulma how, despite his obviously ravenous apatite, his manners appear bizarrely immaculate. Unlike Goku, who shovels food into his mouth like a garbage truck, talking constantly with his mouth full and seeming, while focused on eating, utterly unaware of everything around him, Vegeta seems more like a starving bird, his bites small but quick, his mouth sealed closed as he chews, using utensils for what items call for it, dabbing his mouth with a handkerchief each time after chewing and swallowing. He's staking his plates in a neat row to the side.

Bulma watches him for long seconds, frozen and confused.

When had he come back?

Finally she snaps herself out of her daze, shaking her head and stepping into the room.

If he knows she's there, he hasn't made any indication of it.

A few moments longer and Bulma loses her patience, clearing her throat.

"Hey." She forces herself to greet him, feeling her body wind involuntarily tighter. She's afraid of him, just a little.

She doesn't think he's going to respond at first, he takes so long to reply. But then she hears him speak, his voice nearly too quiet to catch.

"Hello." He says.

Bulma pauses, surprised, more than anything, by the subdued tone.

Steeling herself, she forces herself to move forward, pulling out one of the chairs and sitting down.

"Mind if I join you?" She asks, eying the spread of food covering the table.

Vegeta shrugs, not looking up at her, continuing to eat.

"Can I have some of your food?" She tries, only half joking. She had come in here to get some lunch, after all.

That gets him to glance up at her, his eyes accessing, and for a moment, Bulma fears she's said the wrong thing again, that his temper will snap again.

Only a moment later his gaze wanders back down to his food, and he shrugs again.

"If you want." He tells her.

For an instant, Bulma is lost for words, her mouth hanging open as she stares back at him.

She hadn't... expected him to actually say yes.

"Oh... okay." She at last manages to make herself reply, before standing to get herself a clean plat and fork.

She half expects him to slap her hand away when she comes back to the table and reaches for a dish of casserole from the night before, already half gone. But he makes no move at all when she lifts it up and brings it towards herself, only continuing to work on his own dish.

She watches him a few seconds more, her confusion only intensifying, before she makes herself scoop some of the casserole out onto her plate.

They sit in silence for several minutes then, Bulma incessantly glancing up at the Saiyan every few seconds as she picks at her food.

She's dying to ask him where he went, why he even came back, after what happened last time, but she's afraid of scaring him off again, somehow.

Her mouth comes open to ask, finally, only his own voice cuts her off.

"I'm sorry." He says, so softly, she almost doesn't hear.

She blinks.

"... What?" She forces out after a long moment, unsure if she'd heard him right at all.

She sees him visibly tense, his gaze remaining fixed on the plate of food in front of him.

"... I'm sorry." He repeats, a little louder, voice strained. "... About..." he pauses, hesitating, and she sees his hand over the fork he's holding tighten, threatening to crush the metal. "I didn't mean to frighten you, I..." again he stops, turning his face aside and looking across the space. He shakes his head. "I'm sorry." He repeats again.

Bulma doesn't know what to say, and so she sits there saying nothing.

Apparently, it's the wrong tact to take, as Vegeta stands abruptly from his seat, looking, for all the world, humiliated as he begins to move round the table as if to leave.

Bulma's brain catches up to her then, realizing her blunder.

"Wait!" She blurts out, reaching out unthinkingly to catch him.

He freezes, flinching back from her hand, and Bulma pulls it immediately back.

"I..." she starts, uncertain, fearful of making another wrong move.

He's as skittish as a cornered, injured animal, she thinks.

"Th-thank you," she at last manages. "I... I'm sorry too, for... some of the things I said. I was out of line and shouldn't... I didn't mean them."

Vegeta stares at her, his face impassive and impossible to read, saying nothing.

Bulma swallows past the lump of nervousness in her throat, nodding towards his vacated chair.

"Please sit down. I promise I won't start anything with you."

He continues to look back at her for long seconds, mute, and Bulma can't help the exhale of relief she lets out when he finally moves back and sits down.

He continues eating, pretending, it seems, like she isn't even there.

Bulma fidgets with her fork for a few, agonizing seconds. She doesn't know why she feels so nervous, like she's some sort of silly school girl out on an awkward, blind date with a cute boy. It's ridiculous.

"So, um..." she starts after a while, unable to bear the silence. "Where... where did you go?"

She glances uncertainly up at him, worried that he'll take it the wrong way, and sees him as he continues to eat, outwardly unbothered by her question.

Again she thinks he isn't going to answer, so long a time goes by without his response, and she nearly jumps in her seat when his soft voice fills the space between them.

"The desert... out there." He says, not looking up at her.

"The... desert?" Bulma blinks, confused. "You mean... you've been out there in the desert this whole time?"

Finally he looks up at her, eying her suspiciously.

"That confused you. Why?" He asks.

"Just..." she starts, swallowing again. His eyes are frighteningly focused and intelligent, and she's reminded once more of just who it is she's dealing with. "It's kind of awful out there. It must have been..."

"I told you already I'm accustomed to surviving in harsh environments. Why should that shock you?"

"Just, I mean..." Bulma stumbles, biting her lip. "I'm sorry if... if I drove you out there. I didn't want you to have to actually..." she trails off seeing the strained, irritated look which passes over his features.

"You didn't drive me anywhere." He tells her. "I chose to go."

"Right." She replies, realizing she's insulted his pride. "Sorry. I know. I just... you're welcome here. I didn't mean to give you the impression that you weren't, if that's what I did."

He continues to stare back at her for long seconds then, unblinking, and Bulma finds it a struggle to keep eye contact with him, until finally, thankfully, he looks away.

"You're a strange woman." He says.

Normally, Bulma would take offense to someone saying something like that to her, but oddly, with Vegeta, she gets the sense he didn't at all mean it in as an insult. He seemed genuinely baffled by her being nice to him.

"I guess so." She says quietly, looking down at her lap.

"... I don't know what I'm doing here." She hears him mumble, almost inaudibly, and when she looks up at him, he isn't looking at her anymore, staring off again to the side at some indistinct spot.

"I'm sorry?" She asks.

"... Prince of my people..." he mutters again, though Bulma thinks he isn't talking to her at all anymore. "I was the prince of my people..."

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

"No!... NO!"

Vegeta struggles, pulling back, trying desperately to break free of the man's hold. Only he's as helpless against the green skinned bastard as he was against Frieza, his efforts yielding nothing but a tighter hold along his wrist, threatening to break the fragile bones within.

He'd seen this man before. Always at the lizard's side, along with another, grotesque looking being, that one bearing bright pink skin and spikes running over his bald scalp.

Vegeta screams, lashing out and driving the heel of his foot into the man's shin.

It actually works, the man's grip loosening.

Vegeta stands frozen a moment, shocked at his success, before his brain kicks into gear, and he turns then, running as fast as he's able. He knows it's cowardly. Knows he should be ashamed. But he's frightened... He wants his father...

He doesn't understand any of this. Doesn't understand what's happening.

Father, he... he'd said... he'd given...

"Vegeta, I need you to be strong. You are to go with Lord Frieza, back to his planetary base of operations. You are to remain there for the foreseeable future, to receive proper training in order that you might join the elite ranks of his army."

Vegeta had shamed himself, he knows, for the way he'd begun begging his father not to send him away, crying like a pathetic child that he didn't want to go.

"Please... please Papa... please, I don't want to go. I don't want to, do not make me! Do not send me away!"

Father had slapped him, had told him to stop making a spectacle of himself, to stop bringing shame to their house and name.

Vegeta had tried. But he hadn't understood, and when he'd asked his father why, the King had told him nothing, only made vague promises that they would meet again someday. Told Vegeta to wait for him.

And then he'd been torn away, forced from the palace, dragged through the streets of the capital and brought to Vegetasai's docking station.

Reality had set in then for the prince.

It wasn't some cruel joke, wasn't a dream.

They were taking him away from his home, his family, away from his own kind... taking him somewhere he didn't know, to be kept by... by Frieza, and his men... alone, he was being taken alone.

The Saiyan people had stared back at him, at the procession of Frieza's men as he'd been pulled through the streets, looks of alarm and dismay on their faces.

None had taken action, none had stopped to free their prince.

He's nearly to the entryway of the docking station now. Just a little farther, he thinks. A little farther, and then he can disappear in the crowd. He can...

There's a searing blast of heat against his back, paralyzing pain, and a moment later he's lifted off the ground, blown forward to crash headlong into a thick metal wall.

Vegeta blacks out, the world fading, the pain, mercifully, with it.

/////////////////////////

When he wakes, he's being dragged along the ground by his tail, the world spinning and the wrong side up as he blinks rapidly against his blurred and fractured vision. It's only a matter of seconds before the pain hits, and he gasps against the intensity of it, his mouth filling with thick saliva.

He's going to be sick, he thinks, panic snapping through the fear, and he flails, trying to turn over.

Somebody curses harshly, and a moment later he's being dragged up off the ground, fresh agony shooting down the length of his tail and into his body, freezing him.

He swings up through the air, and his vision goes white, a weak whimper slipping past his lips as the face of the green skinned man swims into view before him, sneering and hateful.

"Stupid monkey, what do you think you're doing now?" He hisses, giving the boy a hard shake, the pain ripping more powerfully through his body with it.

Vegeta chokes, and a moment later, he's throwing up, unable to stop it.

"Disgusting." He hears the man say. "Dodoria, you take him for now. I don't want the animals bile soiling my outfit."

"You're such a prissy asshole Zarbon." Vegeta hears someone else say, before he's being jostled violently, thrown through the air, only to be caught in someone else' arms, squeezed too tight underneath their hold.

"Well if you don't mind having monkey stink on you..."

"What the hell does Frieza even want with the runt?" The man holding Vegeta goes on, ignoring the others comment. He shifts his hold on the prince, so that Vegeta is being held under one arm, carried like a sack of food.

Vegeta tries to feel anger over the indignation, but the relief from having his tail grasped and pulled is too much, and he can only slump lax and weak.

The other man laughs.

"He's supposed to be powerful. And talented. That buffoon for a king says a fighting genius."

The both of them laugh now.

"This little rat?" The one holding him questions. "That's gotta be bullshit. He doesn't look like he could fight his way outta a paper bag."

"Well, regardless of the claims validity, Frieza wants him."

"Pain in the ass."

Again, as their words become more clear, rage overtakes Vegeta's fear, and he begins thrashing again, thoughtless of the beating he's just recently taken.

"Put me down, you fat fuck!" He growls, reaching up to try and pry the man's arm loose. He knows he shouldn't swear. Father would reprimand him for it. But he doesn't care right now. "I'll kill both of you!"

"Hey, hey now!" The man holding him, Dodoria, the other called him, reaches down with his free hand, burying his thick fingers in Vegeta's hair and lifting him up.

Vegeta howls in rage and pain, swinging out with his arms and legs, trying to land any strike he can on the bastard. Only he's being held at arms length, his arms and legs too short to reach anywhere close.

Dodoria throws his head back, laughing loudly.

"Looks like you have some fight in you, you little savage!" He says, before lashing out faster than Vegeta can see, slapping him hard across the mouth, ceasing the Prince's struggles.

Fresh blood coats his tongue, his vision blacking out, dizziness making his head spin.

Another blow to his temple, and the world fades away again to nothing.

/

He wakes again, and is some place he doesn't know.

It's only a moment as his senses come back to him that the pain follows, and Vegeta moans softly, turning over onto his side, disoriented and lost.

His vision is slow in clearing, the room around him taking shape after long seconds.

He tries sitting up, and pays the price.

He feels the bile surge up in his throat and has only an instant to bend over, vomiting onto the ground.

All that comes up is a thin, murky liquid, nothing solid, and Vegeta realizes the awful cramps squeezing his stomach are from hunger.

He can't remember the last time he ate.

He lifts a shaking hand to wipe his mouth, and stays there on his hands and knees for long seconds, his breath feeling labored and weak as he tries to gather his strength.

The bitter taste of vomit and copper coats his tongue, his throat dry and aching, and he wishes desperately that he had some water then. Even just a little...

Finally he works up the resolve to try and stand.

He doesn't get very far.

Pushing himself up, he's immediately hit with a wave of powerful dizziness, his balance failing him as he goes crashing back to the floor, the room spinning sickeningly fast.

He lays his forehead against the cool metal of the ground, folding his arms over his pounding, spinning head as he clamps his eyes shut, trying to stop the feeling like he's being spun in relentless circles.

Only it isn't working. He can't remember ever feeling this weak.

He can hear his father's voice in his head though, telling him to get up, to stop being such a weakling, such a coward.

He tries.

He tries with everything he has, pushing past the dry heaving, past the dizziness and spotting vision, past the weakness in his muscles, his exhaustion, past the angry snarl of hunger in his empty stomach, until somehow, he makes it to his feet, and he stands there, trembling, cold sweat breaking out over his small body.

Looking down at himself, he notices for the first time that he's been stripped of his royal armor and clothing, left in nothing more than a pair of under shorts, his boots gone, feet bare.

His torso is covered in deep, ugly bruises, and he realizes the agony of his movement is coming from there, from the repeated blows and blasts he'd earlier taken. His tail hangs limp on the ground, aching, but he forces himself to wrap it round his waist, remembering the lesson his father had taught him.

And with that realization comes the memory of what had happened.

Father, telling him he had to go with Freiza, telling him he could no longer stay there on their home planet, could no longer stay in the palace, could no longer stay with him.

Being forcibly dragged though the streets of the capital, struggling to break free, being helpless, too weak, too weak to do anything...

He feels his eyes sting, and his lifts a hand, wiping violently at them, angry at himself.

"Stop it..." he mutters under his breath, forcing himself to examine his surroundings, remembering what Commander Nappa had begun to explain to him about being in combat situations.

"Before you do anything, you must assess your surroundings, examine your environment, determine what your advantages and disadvantages are, what will work to your strengths and how to neutralize the enemy, if there is any."

The space was small and stark, devoid of any furnishing or decoration, bleak and cold and dead. The walls were made of large metal sheeting, the room windowless, with a single door built into the wall ahead of the Prince, the compression locks thick and heavy. A single, weak light barely illuminated the place from the ceiling.

Listening, Vegeta could hear a low hum, and he knew, after a moment, that it was the sound of an engine.

"I'm on a space craft..." he thought absently, his heart sinking into the pit of his stomach at the realization.

Where was he?

He turns again towards the room's single door, eying it warily.

He could blast it open easily enough, he thinks. But then... that was likely to alert whoever was here that he had woken, and he didn't know what would happen then.

Glancing up to the corners and round the diameter of the room's ceiling, Vegeta can't discern any camera's, though he knows that doesn't necessarily mean he isn't somehow being watched.

He looks back to the door, and his heart again sinks as he realizes, even if he escapes from this room, if they're in space travel, there isn't any way for him to get off of this ship and back to Vegetasai, not unless he somehow manages to steal an escape pod or something similar. And even if he were successful there, he doesn't actually know how to fly any sort of space craft.

An awful sense of vulnerability washes over him then, a feeling he isn't at all used to, and unthinkingly, Vegeta crosses his arms over his bear chest, backing up until he feels his back hit the wall.

He lets himself slide down it until he's seated along the floor, drawing his knees up to his chest.

He buries his face along the tops of his knees, biting his lip hard to distract himself from the stinging in his eyes.

He sits like that for hours, silent and unmoving, and still nobody comes.

"... Father..." he whispers to himself.

There is no answer. Nothing but the soft hum of the engine, the rest only deafening silence.


	3. Chapter 3

"What was it like?"

She watches Vegeta turn back towards her, staring at her blankly.

"What?" He asks.

Bulma bites her lip, wondering if it's a good idea to ask him anything about his past.

But what he'd said...

She would be lying if she said it hadn't piqued her interest.

It was hard for her to imagine, sometimes, that the man sitting across from her was royalty. Actual, legitimate royalty. That he was a prince.

He was so gruff, so surly and rude and weary and ragged looking half the time.

When Bulma thought of royalty, when she imagined a prince, something more like Prince Charming came to mind, some sort of Disney character. Not... Vegeta.

Yet that's exactly what he was.

The prince of a nearly extinct race of beings, but still... He would have been their king, one day, had they survived.

"Being a prince." Bulma explains finally. "What was that like?"

Vegeta stares back at her for long seconds, silent, face tight and, again, unreadable.

He blinks, he black eyes seeming, for a moment, to look right through her.

He turns away then, dropping the utensil in his hand.

"I wouldn't know." He at last says.

Bulma pauses, confused.

"But... you said you were..." she starts, not understanding.

"You wish to know of my past?" Vegeta cuts her off suddenly, turning back to her, his expression slipping into obvious irritation, bordering even on anger.

Bulma's mouth comes open to reply, the words catching in her throat. She isn't given a chance to recover before Vegeta is standing abruptly, lifting the tank top he's wearing up over his head and tossing it aside.

Bulma feels her face heat with embarrassment, and she has to force herself not to look away.

His body is unbelievable.

She's seen him nearly naked more than her fair share of times, but it never ceases to leave her awed, looking at his physic.

He's insanely tight, corded, ripped muscle held within a slim, compact frame. His shortness only seems to emphasize how strong he obviously is. He doesn't have an ounce of fat on him. Bulma swears, she's never seen anything like it.

Her admiration of his body is interrupted by his low and angry voice.

"This is my past." He snarls at her. "Violence and death and hatred. Do you know I remember each and every one of these?" He runs his rough fingers over other scars littering his body. "Some are from battle... Most are not."

He slashes a line across his abdomen with his thumb, following the line of a particularly nasty looking, gnarled scar, running from his sternum down past the waistband of his pants, probably down his right hip.

"This is from when that man you seemed to admire so well on Namek nearly gutted me. I was ten years old at the time. I remember looking at my own innards, being able to see them..."

He trails off, Bulma's eyes wide with horror and disbelief as she looks back at him, her voice lost to her.

"I was born a slave." He finally goes on. "I knew nothing of it at the time. The first, short years of my life, those who's care I was in thought it best to shield me from that reality. But when I was born, Frieza already held control of my people and their world. I was already his pawn. I was never a prince, never a ruler..."

Silence falls between them, Vegeta glaring furiously at her for what seems an eternity before he at last turns away, stalking across the kitchen, stopping at the counter and leaning onto it with his hands, his back to her.

The near lattice-work of scars across the expanse of his back is only more glaring under the harsh lighting of the space. Only more painfully obvious after what he'd just said...

"... You were tortured." Bulma at last finds her voice, breathing out weakly, her mind still numb with shock.

A harsh bark of laughter comes from the Saiyan.

"I was a weapon." He says, still turned away from her. "A tool to achieve a certain end."

Bulma bites her lip, finally looking away from him.

Her eyes burn, her throat tight.

"... I'm sorry." She says softly, unthinking.

She realizes a moment later her mistake, looking up at him, her heart rate picking up as she expects an explosion of anger.

But he only continues to stand there, leaned over the counter, saying nothing.

Bulma finds herself holding her breath until finally he straightens, his head still bowed.

"Don't feel sorry for me." He says, voice oddly calm, dangerously controlled. She sees his hands balled to fists at his sides. "I'm a killer. I was born a killer. Raised and expected to destroy... Frieza had nothing to do with that."

He turns back towards her then, striding quickly towards where he'd tossed his shirt before, taking it up and pulling it back on over his head.

He begins to leave then, and Bulma's mouth comes open to call him back, to ask him to please not leave again.

Only by the time her voice comes back to her, he's already gone.

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

"Get the fuck outta my way, Zarbon!" Nappa growls, teeth bared in outward hostility.

He doesn't give any kind of a shit if Frieza's right hand man has a higher battle power than he does. If he knows, technically, Zarbon would best him easily in a fight.

He'd been off planet when Frieza and his men had come for Prince Vegeta, several star systems away when the King had contacted him and told him what was happening.

"They've taken him Nappa," he can still hear his King's voice, broken and thin, like he'd been holding back tears, and Nappa had been stunned into silence, numb and confused and something too close to frightened. He'd never heard King Vegeta sound like that. Not ever, since they'd known each other as boys.

"I need you to go to him. Serve as his protector until I can come for him myself. Please Nappa... They'll kill him. They'll kill my son."

That was all the commander had needed to hear.

He'd immediately taken off for Frieza's base planet, a tight ball of anxiety and fear trapped in the pit of his stomach. He had been at least three weeks out from arrival. The gods only knew what might happen to the prince in that time.

He'd had Raditz with him, and the boy had agreed to accompany him without question. Raditz was a fine young man, loyal and proud and strong. Only just aged eleven, but already he was fierce and reliable on a field of battle, with a good head for strategy and patient.

He'd only ever met the King and his son the Prince a handful of times, being of a lower class of warrior and family, but his devotion to them both was, Nappa thought, second to none, only so proven when he'd been explained to the situation with Prince Vegeta, and Nappa had watched a look of pure rage and horror wash over the Saiyan adolescent's young face.

Raditz is at his back now, as Nappa continues to argue with Frieza's lacky.

Nappy wants to punch the bastard in his too pretty face, only just barely managing to keep himself in check.

"Oh, alright, if you're so concerned." Zarbon rolls his eyes, gesturing lazily towards a door at the end of the corridor. "He's in there. Through that door. Though I can't assure you against the stench you're likely to find. The little monkey hasn't come out of there for nearly a week."

Nappa feels his gut clench in dread, his heart stuttering unpleasantly in his chest.

"What do you mean?" He snarls, reaching out and grabbing Zarbon by his armor, jerking him close. "Hasn't anyone checked on him?!"

Zarbon only throws his head back and laughs.

"Of course not. He could be dead in there, for all we know. Lord Frieza seemed unconcerned, and so why should we bother?"

Nappa roars, shoving Zarbon aside and into the wall before barreling past him, his long strides carrying him down the hall rapidly.

He can hear Raditz following quickly behind, though his heart is pounding so loudly in his ears, he's barely aware of anything else.

If Prince Vegeta is dead, if he's failed him, and in turn failed the King, he doesn't know what he'll do. He doesn't know how he'll be able to live with that.

"Oh, and monkey," he hears Zarbon call behind him in that cloying, sing song voice of his. "if you ever put your hands on me like that again, I'll make you and the stinking little wretch you call a prince wish you'd never been born."

Nappa doesn't bother replying, refusing to slow.

His prince needs him. Gods, if only he'd been here quicker...

Reaching the door, Nappa feels himself hesitating only briefly, his fear of what he'll find on the other side momentarily giving him pause.

If Vegeta hasn't been out in a week, does that mean he hasn't eaten in a week?

For a Saiyan, especially a growing Saiyan, to go that long without food... It would be nothing short of a disaster.

Realizing the longer he waits, the worse it is, Nappa slams his fist into the door's operation panel.

The thing comes sliding open with a compressed hiss.

Nappa isn't sure what he's expecting, but a darkened, silent room isn't it.

He stands frozen a moment, his apprehension growing.

"... Nappa," he hears Raditz whisper behind him, voice thick with fear. "what's going on?"

Nappa shakes his head, swallowing past the sudden dryness in his throat.

"I don't know Raditz." He answers honestly, before finally forcing himself to move forward, into the room.

If Zarbon was fucking with him, and Vegeta wasn't actually here...

The lights come on automatically, and Nappa realizes with a start that they're motion sensitive. Which means...

His eyes land on the unmoving form of his prince, his tiny body laid in a motionless, crumpled heap on the ground, just feet from the door, his face pressed to the cold metal of the floor.

Nappa feels paralyzed a moment, staring wide eyed and disbelieving at the child before him.

I'm too late, he thinks horribly a moment, a sickening, hopeless despair washing through him in a wave so powerful, he's certain he's going to collapse.

Only as he keeps staring at the still form of his prince, he sees, if only just, the shallow rise and fall of the young Saiyans breaths, and the relief that comes then is so strong, Nappa feels once more that he might lose his legs.

"Vegeta!" He seems to regain his voice and the use of his body all at once, and he steps forward in a rush, dropping to his knees at the boys side and reaching out.

The prince feels too cold to the touch as Nappa turns him carefully over onto his back, and the commander is surprised to see the boy's eyes open to slits, staring unfocused and lost up at the ceiling. There's dried saliva crusting the corners of his mouth, and Nappa knows instantly that he's severely dehydrated.

"He isn't..." Raditz half gasps behind him, alarmed.

Nappa shakes his head, jaw tight in a grim expression.

"No, not yet." He answers. "But he's sick. We need to get him water."

"Right." Raditz replies quickly. "I'll go find some."

The older boy takes off in search and Nappa keeps his attention on Vegeta, slipping a forearm beneath the Prince's neck and lifting his head slightly. He reaches out with his other hand, pressing the back of it to Vegeta's cheek.

"My Prince..." he starts quietly. "Vegeta, can you hear me?"

The boy doesn't respond, his eyes glassy. Nappa sees him swallow thickly, and he thinks maybe the prince is trying to speak, only can't for how dry his throat and mouth are.

"It's alright." The commander tells him, moving the back of his hand to Vegeta's forehead. "Raditz is going to get you some water. He'll be back soon."

Again, he watches the prince struggle to swallow, and then his lips move, an almost inaudible breath escaping past them.

Raditz comes back in less than a few minutes, and Nappa is grateful as the other boy hands him a flask filled with cold water.

"My Prince, here..." he starts, lifting the boy's head more. "drink this. It'll help you."

Carefully, Nappa tips the flask against Vegeta's mouth. The water spills at first, soaking down the boy's chin, but Nappa doesn't give up, and after several, painfully long seconds, Vegeta seems to realize what's happening, and he begins to drink, slowly at first, but as the moments pass, he seems to realize his own thirst, and he begins swallowing in earnest, eager and desperate.

"Hey, hey... easy now." Nappa says gently, pulling the flask back slowly. "you'll make yourself sick if you drink too much at once."

The prince's eyes are slowly beginning to focus again, seeming to really see Nappa for the first time as the boy stares up at the commander, blinking rapidly.

"... Nap... Nappa..." He at last says, his voice barley a rasped whisper.

The commander forces a smile to his lips, nodding weakly.

"Yeah," he answers. "yeah, it's me kiddo. And Raditz is here too. You remember Raditz, yeah? He ain't much older than you."

Vegeta keeps staring up at him like he can't believe he's actually there, and it's all Nappa can do not to look away, guilt and pain choking his throat.

"Nappa..." the prince says again.

And then he's crying, his eyes welling thick with tears as he reaches for the commander, latching onto him with his small fists, clinging desperately as he trembles.

Nappa grabs him up, hugging him close, letting the boy cry against him.

He wasn't good at this. At displays of emotion. More than his fair share of times, he'd scolded and even slapped students of his who'd given in to such weak emotional displays over the harshness of their training.

But this was different, and Nappa understood that.

What in the hell had Frieza and his men done?

Prince Vegeta may have only been a young child, but he was as proud and strong a Saiyan as the commander had ever known. In every way his father's son.

Even when Nappa had beaten him black and blue in these early days of his training, beaten him unconscious...

He never cried.

Not ever.

Not once.

"I... I want to go home. Nappa, I want to go home." Vegeta eventually says in a small, weak voice.

Nappa feels his teeth clench, his voice momentarily failing him.

"... I know Vegeta." He says quietly. "But we can't right now."

"Why?!" Vegeta wails against him. "Why? I want to go home. I want to see Papa!"

Nappa shakes his head, feeling lost. He doesn't know how to handle this.

"We can't Vegeta." He repeats hopelessly. "Your father gave me orders to come and be at your side until he's able to come for you himself. But right now..." he hesitates, the words rankling inside his mouth before he can even say them. "right now, Frieza and his men are just too powerful."

Vegeta looks up at him then, a look of shocked disblief on his young face.

He shakes his head, one of his hands uncurling from Nappa's chest plate, coming up to wipe clumsily at his wet eyes.

"But... but that can't be." He protests finally. "No, Father is... he's the strongest in the universe! He's the King of all Saiyans! He'll b-beat... he'll beat stupid Frieza up! He'll come for me and he'll... he'll..."

His voice trails off, fresh tears welling in his eyes, and Nappa has to turn away then, his jaw clenching tight at his own helplessness.

Damn it all to hell.

"... Isn't he?" He hears the prince say at last, voice small and uncertain now.

Nappa exhales though his nose, trying to keep his suddenly raging emotions in check.

"He'll come for you someday Vegeta. He's given his word." He says after a long moment. "Until then, I'm here, and Raditz too. We ain't gonna leave you Vegeta. Not for nothin'."

The prince wipes at his eyes, his erratic, shallow breathing finally seeming to calm down some.

"You won't?" He asks, like he's truly afraid they will.

Nappa shakes his head.

"We're here for you." He repeats, forcing a smile. "Hey, we're family, right?"

The prince only stares at him, not saying anything.

He still looks out of it, shaky and weak, and the commander knows he's got to get the boy something to eat.

"Look, why don't we get you cleaned up, and then we'll go get some food. Alright?"

Finally an expression other than abject misery comes over the boy's face, though it quickly falls away again after a moment.

"... I tried finding food." He says almost inaudibly. "Nobody w-would... nobody would tell me where any was. And then I got lost. S-so I came back here and..."

Again he trails off, seeming ashamed.

Nappa was going to kill those bastards. He swore he was, somehow.

"Well they'll tell me." He assures the prince. "So don't worry. Now come on, I'll bet your hungry."

The boy gives a weak nod, wiping once more at his eyes before he's suddenly trying to stand.

"Whoa, easy now." Nappa has to catch him as Vegeta's knees immediately buckle and he nearly crumples back to the floor. "Let me carry you. You're weak from having no food or water."

Normally, Nappa knows, Prince Vegeta would protest adimently against that kind of coddling.

It's a testament then to how bad off he really is, that he doesn't put up any protest at all, simply letting Nappa lift him up and falling limp across the commander's shoulder.

"Hi Raditz..." he says quietly, greeting the older boy.

"Hi Prince Vegeta." Raditz greets back just as softly.

He sounds sad.

Nappa can't blame him.

Seeing this done to their prince... the great hope of the Saiyan race...

He doesn't know how any of them could be anything but heartbroken.


	4. Chapter 4

Bulma rolls her eyes, her jaw clenching as she turns away from Yamcha, completely disgusted.

He's saying something to her, but she really can't be bothered to hear what it is now.

They've been arguing the last half an hour, her dead beat boyfriend coming up with one excuse after another for why she'd caught him practically slobbering all over some other girl's face when she'd come back from getting them snow cones.

The final straw for her had been his claim that the woman had had something stuck in her eye and he was trying to help her get it out.

"Your tongue was in her mouth Yamcha!" Bulma had screamed in response. "How is that helpful to her having something stuck in her eye!?"

Yamcha, predictably, hadn't had an answer, only staring at her with that stupid, mindless expression he got when he knew he'd been caught lying.

That had been it, and Bulma had decided the conversation, and likely their relationship, was over.

He's still talking, and Bulma simply turns her back to him, walking away.

"Babe!" He calls after her. "Wait!"

She doesn't, continuing on, moving down closer to the water, and away from him.

It's as she's walking along the shore, she looks up, and sees Vegeta sitting maybe a hundred yards down from where she is, his arms wrapped round his knees as he stares out at the ocean.

She'd been wondering where he'd gone.

She'd invited him to come down to the beach with her and Yamcha and Goku's family earlier, fully expecting him to turn her down.

She'd been nothing short of shocked when he'd stared back at her for a long moment before nodding vaguely, muttering out an "alright".

Vegeta didn't socialize, with anyone. So she hadn't been able to understand why he agreed. Still, she'd been elated that he had, and had quickly gone about getting him a swim suit to wear, and asking if he wanted to ride with them.

He'd shaken his head at that, telling her he'd simply meet them there, and Bulma hadn't argued, not wanting to scare him off.

Only when she and the rest of the gang had finally arrived, she'd looked everywhere for him, and hadn't been able to find him at all. She'd figured then that he'd changed his mind after all, and she couldn't help feeling disappointed at the realization.

Things had progressed through the afternoon relatively normally then, Chichi and Gohan seeming to have a good time playing in the water and building a sand castle together, and Bulma and Yamcha had even been having fun, until the incident with the girl.

Pushing that still stinging memory from her mind, she focuses on the Saiyan prince.

He's wearing the swimming shorts she'd provided for him, along with a white tank top and some sneakers on his feet. He rests his chin on the tops of his knees, and once again, it strikes Bulma just how lonely he seems.

She wishes he felt it was alright for him to hang out and talk to her and her friends.

Figuring she had nothing to lose at this point, she decides to go over and talk with him.

As she gets closer, she can see him tense slightly, shoulders rising, hand tightening round where he holds his wrist.

She hesitates a moment before forcing herself to go on. She isn't going to help him feel more comfortable around her and her friends if she actively avoids him herself.

"Hey," She greets softly once she's close enough.

He doesn't look at her, keeping his eyes fixed on the water.

Bulma doesn't let it discourage her.

"Mind if I join you?" She goes on.

"... If you wish." He answers after a long moment, and Bulma exhales in relief, smiling to herself as she lowers herself down next to him, assuming his same posture, drawing her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them.

"... Are you having a good time?" She asks after a moment.

Again, he takes a long time to answer, but Bulma's grown used to that by now. She's begun to realize that Vegeta rarely speaks without thinking over his every word.

"... I like the water." He says at last, and Bulma smiles again, nodding.

"Yeah, me too." She says. "I feel like it always puts things into perspective for me."

She sees him shift in her periphery, glancing briefly at her before focusing his gaze forward again. He doesn't say anything for a long while.

"... On Vegetasai, we had great, vast oceans of the most brilliant blue..." he at last speaks again, voice almost a whisper. "I liked to play in them when I was a boy..."

Bulma turns to look at him, her heart sinking at how... sad he sounds. She doesn't think she's ever heard his voice so subdued.

"That must have been wonderful." She tries, not sure what else to say. She wonders how long he had, before he was taken by Frieza. How many years he had on his home planet, with his family.

Vegeta doesn't reply to her comment.

"... Why are you not in the company of your mate?" He asks suddenly after several minutes.

Bulma sits taken aback a moment, not having expected him to even notice.

She looks down at the sand beneath her, running her fingers through the fine grain as she contemplates how to answer him.

Finally she figures the truth is simply easiest.

"Because Yamcha is being a world class dick at the moment." She spits bitterly, the thought of her boyfriend causing her anger to swell.

That finally gets Vegeta to turn and look at her, an expression of confusion across his features.

"... What... is a... world class dick?" He asks, genuine bemusement in his tone.

Bulma can't help it. She bursts out laughing.

Predictably, Vegeta doesn't react well to it.

"What are you laughing at?" He demands, angry and confused. "What is so amusing?"

Bulma waves him off, trying to reign her laughter in, knowing it's upsetting him.

"I... I'm s-sorry, it's j-just..." she gasps, trying to get the words out.

Vegeta stands in one swift movement, his hands clenched to fists at his sides.

He looks like he's about to take off into the air, and unthinkingly, Bulma reaches out, wrapping her hand round his ankle to stop him.

"No, don't..." she manages to get out. "Don't go, I... I'm sorry. I'm not laughing at you, just..."

He freezes, staring down at her, at the hand she has on his ankle, and immediately Bulma lets him go, realizing that she's shocked him with the contact.

"I'm sorry," she apologizes again. "I wasn't laughing at you, just it seemed funny to me, hearing someone ask me was a world class dick was. I keep forgetting that you aren't from around here."

Vegeta scowls, stepping back from her, seeming to reanimate with the loss of her touch.

"That sounds very much like you were laughing at me." He snaps.

Bulma holds her hands up, hoping he understands it as a peace offering.

"Alright, maybe I was a little, but I didn't mean it maliciously. I'm not trying to make fun of you. Please don't leave."

He eyes her suspiciously for several, long seconds, before, to her great relief, he finally lowers himself back to the ground, albeit putting a greater space between them than had been there before.

Bulma sighs, forcing herself not to make mention of it, instead focusing her eyes out towards the water again.

"It's just an expression of insult," she begins to explain. "calling someone a world class dick, it just means they're someone who's purposefully being difficult or going out of their way to piss you off." She shakes her head, her thoughts inadvertently floating back to Yamcha's unfaithful behavior. "I went to get me and Yamcha some snow cones, and when I cam back, he was kissing some other girl."

Bulma isn't sure why she's revealing the truth to Vegeta. He's likely the last person who would feel any kind of sympathy towards her plight. But she'd been overcome with the urge to simply tell someone just then, and Vegeta had asked...

There comes no reply from him for several seconds, and glancing towards him, she's taken aback by the almost horrified expression she sees across his face.

"... He is faithless to you?" He says at last, his voice laced with shocked disbelief.

Bulma scoffs, turning away.

"Yeah, that's one way of putting it. He can't ever seem to keep his hands to himself. I'm almost positive he's cheated on me at least once, probably more if I'm being honest."

"I will kill him for you." Vegeta says, and Bulma nearly chokes on her own spit.

"What?!" She half gasps, turning to look at him. "No, what?!"

"It is an offense punishable by death, to be faithless to ones mate." Vegeta goes on, staring back at her.

Bulma laughs nervously at the dead serious look on his face.

"W-well, that seems a bit extreme, d-don't you think...?" She tries.

"When one chooses a mate, you are meant to be joined to that one for life, never to consort with another for the shame and disrespect it would bring to them. It is a grave offense to do so. I will kill your mate for you, for the shame he has brought, for your humiliation."

Bulma could see the situation was rapidly growing out of hand, and knew she had to do something to disperse Vegeta's unexpectedly severe reaction. She would never have said anything if she'd known he would take it so seriously.

Though, despite the violence of his offer, she also couldn't help feeling it was strangely... romantic, in a messed up sort of way.

"Look, Vegeta, I don't want you to kill anyone." Bulma says. "Please, just... don't even think about something like that."

The Saiyan's expression only grows more perplexed.

"Then you take no issue with it? With him being faithless to you?" He asks, a tone of disgust creeping into his voice.

"Of course not!" Bulma says, annoyed. "I'm not even remotely okay with it. It's just... look, I know you come from a completely different culture, a completely different world, and you obviously dealt with things differently on Vegetasai. But, here on Earth, we don't kill someone just for... being faithless, as you put it."

Vegeta frowns.

"Then what do you do?" He asks, seeming genuinely curious.

Bulma sighs, glancing away.

"Well, usually, we break up with them." She says, almost more to herself.

She'd been going out with Yamcha on and off for years now, but somehow, despite his indiscretions, she always seemed to come back to him.

"You mean you separate from them?" Vegeta asks suddenly.

Bulma nods absently, staring at the sky.

"Then that is what you should do." Vegeta goes on matter of factly.

Bulma blinks, looking back to him.

He's staring at her with that same, serious expression, and she can see to look in his eyes that he means every word he's just said.

Finally she drags her own eyes away, beginning to push her fingers absently again through the sand.

"I know." She eventually mutters.

"Why have you not?" Vegeta presses.

Bulma shrugs, not entirely sure of the answer herself.

"I don't know. I guess... I guess I love him, or something." She answers, voice barely above a whisper.

"Tch." She hears Vegeta scoff at her side. "He makes a fool of you. He shows you no respect. A woman such as yourself should not tolerate such treatment."

A woman such as herself?

Bulma glances back towards Vegeta, and sees he's looked away from her now, sees that he's fidgeting with the material of the swimming shorts she'd given him, his expression tight, almost... embarrassed.

Bulma smiles vaguely, oddly touched by how adement he's being.

"That's sweet of you to say." She replies softly, and he turns his face away from her.

"It is only the truth." He says flatly. "He is your inferior."

Again, Bulma smiles.

He's so blunt, but in a bizarre way, it's charming.

"What about..." she hesitates. Only once again her curiosity wins out. "What about you? Have you ever... had a mate?"

Vegeta stiffens visibly, before he answers sharply.

"No."

Bulma blinks.

"Really? Never? I mean... you've never... been with anyone or...?"

She can see the Saiyan's jaw tighten, his eyes staring straight ahead, plainly avoiding her.

"There was little to no opportunity for such things in the PTO." He answers after a moment, his voice again flat and emotionless. "My life was that of an indentured soldier. I had my missions. I satisfied them. The rest was survival. Any mate I might have chosen likely would not have lasted under Frieza's rule."

Bulma's heart sinks as his words register. As she realizes what he's saying to her.

"So you never... have... have you ever even been... intimate, with another person?" She asks cautiously, her voice small. She probably shouldn't be asking him such a personal question.

She can see Vegeta's breathing hitch, and his face, unbelievably, shades faintly red. He still won't look at her.

"... No." He finally answers, the same, blunt honesty as always.

God, Bulma thinks.

She feels a sudden, almost unbearable sadness for him.

Has he ever experienced anything other than fear or anger?

She doesn't know what to say. Telling him she's sorry would only make it worse, she thinks, only make him think she thought him pitiable.

She didn't want him to think that, even if she really did.

She chews her lip, wondering.

"Well, you know," she finally starts, hesitant. "it's never too late to start fresh."

She can't help rolling her eyes at herself.

Smooth, Bulma, she thinks angrily.

"I mean, I didn't even have my first date until I was fifteen..."

Shut up, just shut up you stupid idiot!

She glances at Vegeta, fearful of what she'll see. Probably disgust, or anger, or both.

Only the Saiyan's features show nothing, only the same, blank expression as he stares ahead of himself.

At least he didn't run away this time, she thinks to herself, though that seems like a hollow victory in light of his revelation.

"Listen, do you want to ride with me back to Capsule Corp?" She asks. "I've kind of had my fill of the beach for the day, and I figure Yamcha can catch a ride home with Chichi and Gohan."

She expects him to reject the offer outright, as he had earlier. After all, he could fly.

She's entirely shocked, then, when he looks at her sidelong a moment before giving a vague nod and standing.

"Yes." He says.

He says nothing else as he turns, beginning to walk in the direction where she had parked her hover car.

It takes a moment for Bulma's thoughts to kick back into gear, and she hurries then, scrambling to her feet and running after him, his short, quick strides already having taken him far away.

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

His teeth grind together so hard he thinks for a moment they'll shatter, his fingers curling uselessly against the cold concrete flooring.

The taste of iron coats his tongue, washes down his throat, and he feels nauseous, the space spinning too fast... too fast around him, and he can't see, can't gain his bearings.

He knows another blow is coming, and he can do naught for it but to curl in on himself and turn away.

The heel of Zarbon's boot collides across his temple a moment later, sending him sliding across the floor, only coming to a stop when he crashes against the wall, the impact crushing.

Vegeta hears something snap, and a strangled, half-swallowed gasp tears from his throat at the violent explosion of pain. His vision goes white, ears exploding with a high pitched, deafening ring, and unbidden, he feels the warmth of thick tears well suddenly in his eyes.

He won't cry... Not this time...

He hears voices, what he thinks is the sound of footfall echoing through the space. But it all sounds distant and muddled, like he's under water, and he can't make out any of the words.

"Get up, boy!" The voice finally breaks through. Zarbon. Vegeta feels the ball of Freiza's right hand lieutenant rest firmly between his shoulder blades, a steady application of pressure, and Vegeta chokes out at the fresh pain, the tears refusing to stay back, spilling over the edge and sliding down his face, onto the floor. "I said get up!"

The blow lands against Vegeta's shoulder, and his world dissolves into agony.

It's a moment later that it becomes too much, and he vomits, what little food he'd been allowed that day spilling, half-digested, onto the ground.

"Zarbon, stop this!" Vegeta thinks he hears Nappa's voice shouting across the space, but again the sound is distant, removed. "He's only a child!"

"Shut that face of yours monkey!" Zarbon replies. "Unless you want to take it up with Lord Frieza, since it's under his orders your monkey prince be put through his paces. I thought you claimed the little bastard was battle ready."

Vegeta can't put down the abrupt, overwhelming urge to run to Nappa, to hide behind his guardian and be protected. He knows it's weak. Knows he should be ashamed for it. But he's so scared, and he doesn't know what to do, doesn't...

"Nappa..." he whimpers, his voice inaudible to his own ears.

"You green skinned son of a bitch, he is. But he's only just turned five years old, he's only just begun going into active combat. He isn't ready for this kind of training."

"Lord Frieza thinks otherwise." Zarbon replies without emotion. "You have a problem with it, take it up with him."

That's all the warning Vegeta is allowed before he feels the lieutenant's hand fist in his hair, pulling him by it up off the floor and holding him out at arms length. Pain sears through his scalp before fading into the background as he eats a hard right cross to the face, his nose crunching under the blow, the taste of warm blood gushing down over his lips, vision going white again.

Vegeta can't stop it anymore.

He begins to cry, whimpering pathetically, he knows, but he can't help it, Nappa's name slipping in a weak moan from his lips.

"Zarbon, that's enough!" Nappa finally roars, losing all restraint. The giant Saiyan steps from the wall and moves threateningly towards Zarbon and his charge.

Zarbon only laughs.

"You monkey's are so pitifully undisciplined." He says smoothly. "Here, if you want the wet rat so badly, take him."

Without warning beyond that, the lieutenant rears his arm back, tossing Vegeta like some unwanted rag towards Nappa, barely giving him time to react.

Still, Nappa manages to catch Vegeta in his arms, pulling the small child to his chest, cradling him closely and tight.

Vegeta wants to cling to him, but he has no strength left. Not enough strength to even hold on.

He hangs limply, head lolling forward against Nappa's chest.

"It's alright..." He feels Nappa press his mouth against the crown of his head, speaking softly. "It's alright my Prince..."

It doesn't feel true, and Vegeta feels sick again as he thinks, panicked for a moment, that Nappa is lying to him. But Nappa has never lied to him, he's never...

Darkness begins to close in round the edges of his vision then, and his thoughts skitter away.

His body gives out entirely before the world fades away to nothing.


	5. Chapter 5

It's hours later when Yamcha walks through the living room entry, flustered and obviously egging for a fight.

Bulma looks up from the book she'd been reading, and knows immediately it's going to get ugly and fast.

Yamcha stops halfway across the room, his arms crossing over his chest and glaring at her with as much overt anger as Bulma can recall ever seeing in his eyes.

She stares right back at him, unimpressed and herself growing angry.

What kind of gall does it take, she wonders, for him to come into her home and act like she's somehow wronged him?

"What?" She finally snaps when he doesn't say anything, his face growing more and more disgusted in its expression.

"What?" He snaps back. "What?! Really? You have to fucking ask?!"

"Yeah, Yamcha, I have to fucking ask." Bulma spits, already past the point of any patience. "Last I recall, it was you who had your tongue down some other chick's throat, not me."

Yamcha actually laughs, and Bulma feels her blood pressure rise, her teeth grinding together.

"Oh, yeah?" He finally says. "Because you're so innocent in all of this, right?"

Bulma shakes her head, disbelieving.

"What the hell are you even talking about?" She says, disgusted.

"Don't act like you don't know!" He accuses, stepping closer.

Bulma throws her book down, pushing herself up off the couch.

"I don't know Yamcha! Why don't you enlighten me?"

Yamcha scoffs, turning his face away and shaking his head before looking back to her.

"Unbelievable." He says. "You left me there at the beach without even telling me you were going. You left with that psychopathic freak!"

For a moment, Bulma is stunned into silence.

She stares back at her boyfriend, a swirl of emotions crashing through her.

But it's her anger which consumes her. Anger, she realizes with a shock, at his daring to speak about Vegeta as he just did.

"What the fuck is your problem Yamcha?!" She manages after a moment, her anger making it difficult for her to talk. "I offered Vegeta a ride back, and he accepted. I was being polite."

"My problem?!" He shoots back. "My problem, Bulma, is that you've obviously developed some sort of obsession or crush or something on that piece of shit psycho! And then you've got the nerve to turn around and get on my ass about looking at other women!"

"Oh my God, I'm not... I am not hearing this." Bulma shakes her head, staring at Yamcha in disbelief, her anger slowly growing into rage. "I'm not."

"Oh, you're hearing it alright." Yamcha fires back. "What the hell is it with you and that guy anyway? It's like you completely forgot what he is. You treat him like..."

"Like what, Yamcha?" Bulma cuts him off, completely sickened. "Like an actual person!? Instead of like a diseased animal, which you and everyone else seem perfectly alright with doing?!"

"YES!" Yamcha shouts back. "Exactly! Or did you forget that your new boyfriend fucking killed me when he first came to Earth?"

"I didn't forget anything Yamcha!" Bulma screams back. "I fucking mourned you, for a long fucking time. And I know what Vegeta did. But you weren't there on Namek with us either. You didn't go through that, didn't see what we all went through, what Vegeta did. We'd all probably be dead if he hadn't been there..."

"Oh, so now he's a hero..." Yamcha says sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

Bulma's mouth comes open to reply, at the very end of her rope, only she doesn't get the chance as Vegeta's quiet voice suddenly fills the room.

"She doesn't want you here."

Both her and Yamcha turn, looking toward the living room entry, and see Vegeta standing there, leaned against the door frame, arms crossed, his eyes fixed on Yamcha.

"What?" Yamcha starts after a moment, turning to fully face the Saiyan.

"She doens't want you here." Vegeta repeats, not moving. "Leave."

Yamcha stares silently for a moment, like he can't believe what he's just heard.

And then he laughs.

Throws his head back, his arms wrapping round his stomach like he's just heard the world's funniest joke.

Bulma feels herself tense, sudden dread filling her chest.

"Yamcha," she starts.

"Who the hell are you again?" Yamcha's voice cuts her off, addressing Vegeta. "That you think you can come in here and stick your nose into our business?"

Finally, Vegeta moves, pushing himself up off the door frame and stepping into the room, his arms still crossed over his chest.

"You are a low sort." He says flatly. "Faithless to your chosen mate. You need to leave here. Now."

"Oh, that's rich." Yamcha says. "So what, you're her bodyguard now. Is that what you've gotten her to believe?"

"For God's sake Yamcha," Bulma starts, getting more and more uneasy.

"Well I'm not leaving. Not unless she tells me to." He goes on, pointing back at Bulmawhile simultaniously ignoring her.

And suddenly he's stepping towards Vegeta, striding towards him until he's standing only inches away from the smaller man.

It's a bizarre contrast.

Bulma knows Vegeta could kick the living shit out of Yamcha if he really wanted to. Could kill him, easily.

Only looking at the two of them face to face, the top of Vegeta's head barely reaches the bottom of Yamcha's chest. It doesn't escape Bulma the way the Saiyan needs to crane his head all the way back just to look into the taller man's face. He's noticeably thinner too. Looks like he must weigh nearly thirty pounds less.

He looks almost like a child compared to her boyfriend, and if Bulma didn't know any better, if she didn't know who and what Vegeta was, she'd assume from appearance alone that if the two of them got into a fight, Yamcha would beat Vegeta bloody.

That's a strange thing about the Saiyan prince, she thinks. He looks so... unassuming.

Yet she knows fully well, out of all of them, he's second in power only to Goku.

Yamcha knows it too, which is why Bulma can't understand what the hell he's doing.

He smirks down at Vegeta, assuming the same posture, crossing his arms over his chest and standing with his feet wide apart. Almost mocking.

"How's the weather down there, short stack?" He asks, and Bulma feels her stomach drop out from under her.

What the hell is he doing? Is he trying to get himself killed?!

Her eyes shift to Vegeta, expecting his face to twist into rage. But he only stands there with an unreadable expression, looking up at Yamcha, silent now.

Yamcha seems undeterred by the lack of reaction, his smile widening as he shakes his head.

"You know, I know I'm no match for you, at least not yet. But damn, you are tiny. I mean, what's it like, being that small? It must suck having to always look up at everyone, just to see their face. Must make you feel kind of inferior."

Bulma watches in absolute horror then as Yamcha reaches out and pats Vegeta on the head, like some little boy.

He's got to be drunk, she realizes with dismay. No way he would be this stupid sober.

Still, Vegeta doesn't react, continuing to stand stock still, looking up at Yamcha with that same, blank expression.

It only makes Bulma feel more frightened.

"Yamcha, fucking stop. Stop it." She half yells, stepping towards them.

He ignores her.

"What's the matter little guy?" Yamcha goes on, his voice dripping with condescension, continuing to pat Vegeta's head. "Aren't you going to get mad? Where's that supposed pride of yours?"

Still, Vegeta doesn't react. Doesn't say anything.

"What about this?" Yamcha spits, voice suddenly turning angry.

Without further warning, he slaps Vegeta across the mouth, hard.

It turns the Saiyan's head, and Bulma hears herself gasp, her hands flying to her mouth in shock.

Slowly, Vegeta turns his head back round, his expression still eerily blank as his eyes fix again on Yamcha.

There's blood trickling from the corner of his lip where Yamcha had struck him.

Oh Gods, Bulma thinks. He was going to kill him. Vegeta was going to kill Yamcha.

But still he does nothing.

It only seems to drive Yamcha on to further stupidity.

He strikes out again, slapping Vegeta along the opposite side, again turning his head, and again Vegeta turns to look back up at him, expressionless.

Bulma's heart feels like it's going to explode out of her chest, it's beating so hard.

Vegeta is letting Yamcha hit him, she realizes. But she can't understand why. Like she can't understand why he was just standing there, taking it.

A third slap, harder than any of the others, and Vegeta actually stumbles back a step. It spurs Yamcha on, and he steps forward, lashing out once more.

It's one mistake too many.

Vegeta's hand comes up too fast for the eye to see, catching Yamcha's wrist.

There a loud snap which echoes through the room, and Yamcha's spluttered, agonized cry.

Bulma lets loose a scream.

What happens after that, she isn't sure.

Everything becomes white noise and blinding, bright light.

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

They weren't going to finish in time.

Vegeta had known that yesterday.

Stupidly, he'd hoped, if he and Nappa and Raditz only worked harder, focused harder, they might be able to avoid this. But this planet's defensive forces were roughly three times as great as the statistics provided them by Zarbon had indicated, their fighters as well in possession of far greater battle power, and it was taking the three Saiyan's longer than the allotted two days Frieza had given them to complete their mission.

Vegeta steps aside, avoiding the clumsy blow of his opponent, turning as the man stumbles past him with the momentum of his missed swing. The Saiyan shoots a lazy ki blast at the idiots back, not even bothering to watch as his physical form disintegrates with the intense heat.

If they were allowed to shift into their Oozaru forms, they could have wiped out this planet's population in less than a day, but Frieza needed its natural resources in tact, and the risk of damaging the ecosystem here was too great for that.

Vegeta was able to control his ape form, but Nappa and Raditz couldn't. And while he could direct them and their actions up to a point, he was still also an adolescent, and being so, the likelyhood of his two comrades heeding his direction was less than certain. He was their unit commander, but when transformed, the animal drive was powerful, and animals tended not to follow the lead of a kit.

As their unit commander, the responsibility of their mission also fell to him, no matter he was only eight years old. If they didn't finish the purge within the time limit, it was him who would have to answer for it.

Vegeta tries not to think of that now as he lifts a hand, wiping the back of it against his sweat drenched forehead. Something warm and sticky touches his skin, and pulling his hand away, he sees a smear of blood across his knuckles. Whether it's his or someone else', he doesn't know.

Ignoring it, he looks up and around him.

The field of battle is very nearly empty now. He can see Nappa a few hundred yards from him, putting down some of the last remaining fighters.

The fighting in this quadrant had being going on for hours, and they had at last nearly done away with all resistence.

Vegeta could only feel relief.

He was deathly tired, his bones hurting along with his joints, and he thought if he had to engage in another, single battle, he might very well collapse. His energy was exhausted.

There were half a dozen more strong holds to purge, scattered across the planet. It would take at least another two days to take care of them all.

The Saiyan prince tries not to think of that either.

He glances at Nappa one last time, seeing his four opponents already put away, and so he turns, stumbling back towards where their pods had landed.

He doesn't think he could fly.

He feels dizzy and weak. He wishes he could just lie down where he is and sleep forever. But that wouldn't be safe, he knows.

The trek back to the pods seems to take forever though, and when at last they come into view, he sees Raditz is already there, cooking a meal over a fire pit.

Vegeta feels his stomach cramp in hunger as the scent of the cooking meat hits his nose, his mouth filling with saliva.

He hasn't eaten anything since that morning.

He drags his legs the rest of the way up the small incline and at last collapses onto his knees across from the older boy.

Radtiz smiles at him, though the expression melts away as he takes in Vegeta's appearance.

"Are you alright Vegeta?" He asks, voice laced in concern.

Vegeta leans forward, cradling his head in his hands.

The world won't stop spinning.

"I'm fine." He answers after a moment, though he doesn't know if that's true. He doesn't really feel fine.

He hears Raditz stand from where he's sitting and move closer, lowering himself by Vegeta's side a moment later.

Vegeta always feels like even more of a child next to the older boy. Raditz is fourteen and already he nearly reaches Nappa's shoulder in height, already he's grown into a long and powerful physic.

He feels Raditz put an arm around his shoulders, pulling him close. Vegeta is too tired to protest, leaning against the other boy's warm body.

"Are you injured?" Raditz asks softly.

Vegeta's eyes slip closed. He just wants to sleep. He doesn't think he even has the strength to eat now.

"Idunno..." he mumbles in response.

"Come on. Lay down here and let me look you over." Raditz says.

Vegeta doesn't move. He's too tired.

He can feel himself being maneuvered, and he allows it as Raditz hooks him under the arms and carefully lowers him onto his back, along the ground.

"Oh, Vegeta..." he thinks hears the older boy say.

The feeling of strong fingers working through his hair only serves to lull Vegeta more towards sleep.

"What happened?" He hears Nappa's voice after a while, but it's distant, like he's standing far away.

"... I don't know. He took some sort of blow to the head I think." Raditz answers, and he also sounds far away.

The world fades slowly out, and then there's only darkness, and the terror of his dreams to greet him after.

/

"Get out, both of you." Frieza orders flatly, his red eyes flitting a moment from Vegeta to Nappa and Raditz, kneeling at attention at their prince's back.

Vegeta feels his body coil with an almost unbearable tension.

He'd known this was coming.

They were three days over their due date, having run into yet more rebels near the outskirts of the planet's final outpost.

The Saiyan prince had nearly been sick as he'd been woken from hyper sleep upon reaching base orbit, nausea churning threateningly in his stomach as the prospect of facing Frieza's wrath grew nearer.

Somehow, he'd held it together as he and his companions had marched from the ship docks and through the compound, taking the tram to the next, and then the elevator up to Frieza's personal quarters. But with every step nearer to make their report, Vegeta could feel his control chipping down, his fear taking hold again. He could feel the anxiety rolling off of both Nappa and Raditz too, and it only served to make his worse.

They'd screwed up, and all three of them knew it, though Vegeta told himself it wasn't truly their fault. And it wasn't. But that didn't matter. It never mattered.

Frieza had been alone when the three of them had entered, no Zarbon or Dodoria to add to his company today. Their glaring absence had only driven Vegeta's nerves higher. Frieza must have sent them away, for what reason, the prince couldn't understand, didn't want to know.

He hears Nappa growl low in his throat behind him, and Vegeta keeps his eyes fixed to the floor, praying his guardian doesn't do something foolish.

Nappa was so protective, but against Frieza and his top dogs, it only made things worse.

"What are you gonna do?" The Saiyan commander demands, standing suddenly.

Vegeta feels his stomach drop out from under him, his breath momentarily sticking in his throat.

"Nappa, don't..." he says, voice coming out weak and shaky.

"You would do well to listen to your charge, idiot monkey." Frieza says, voice the same flat, emotionless tone. "After all, the only one to suffer for your stupidity will be him."

He motions towards Vegeta with his thick, ridged tail, and it's all Vegeta can do to keep himself frozen still. He wants to run. He knows that's cowardly.

He can't help it.

Nappa doesn't move, and a mixture of relief and resignation fills Vegeta then.

He knows there's nothing his guardian can do to help him now.

That doesn't seem to keep the prince from fantasizing that somehow he could, from feeling the disappointment when Nappa backs down, like if only he'd stood his ground, he could have done something... anything...

"Don't make me repeat myself." Frieza says.

It's all the warning the other two Saiyan's need, both Nappa and Raditz finally doing as they've been told, exiting the room to wait outside, leaving the prince alone.

The sound of the door sliding shut is like the world going dark.

Vegeta doesn't dare to lift his eyes, keeping his gaze fixed on the cool black tile beneath him.

Seconds stretch into minutes without Frieza speaking a word, and the young Saiyan can feel his anxiety threatening to turn to panic in his chest. He listens to the clink of the tyrant's wine glass as he lifts and drinks from it and sets it down again, still saying nothing.

Just as Vegeta feels he may collapse from his growing nerves, Frieza's high, soft voice rings out.

"You failed to complete your mission within the given time constraints," he starts. "as I'm sure you're aware."

Vegeta says nothing, keeping his face down, keeping himself as still as possible. Frieza hadn't asked him a question, and the prince knew better than to speak unless directly ordered to.

"Care to explain your tardiness?" Frieza goes on after a moment.

For an instant, Vegeta's breath locks in his throat, his mouth going dry with fear as he struggles to reply quickly enough.

"Th-the enemies d-defensive forces were... w-were much greater than we were in-initially led to believe..." he starts, stammering over his words. "We t-tried to..."

"Are you saying your failure is somehow my fault?" Frieza interrupts him, and Vegeta hears him lift himself up out of his hover craft, the sound of his feet slapping against the tiled floor as he makes his way down the short stair case, closer to the prince.

Vegeta's stomach drops, his muscles seizing in sickening dread as he realizes the trap he's just walked into. He sees Frieza's feet come into view, stopping before him a moment, before he begins moving around the Saiyan, circling him with deliberate slowness.

"N-no... No my lord..." Vegeta forces the words up out of his tightening throat, struggling against the sudden stinging in his eyes. "I d-didn't... I don't..."

He loses sight of Frieza from his periphery as he circles round behind him.

Vegeta's tail tightens round his waist, the hairs of it standing and puffing with anxiety. He can feel the weight of the tyrant's gaze heavy on his back, and his voice dies in his throat.

A moment later, he feels cold, strong fingers rest gently against the nape of his neck, threatening to close tight.

"You disappoint me child." Frieza says against his ear, voice a whisper.

Vegeta's eyes slip closed, hot tears running warm down his face.

/

Nappa finds Vegeta crumpled against the door to their living quarters, nearly naked and beaten half to death. The Commander doesn't think he would have even recognized the boy, so covered in blood and hideous bruising was he, had it not been for the telltale petite size of his frame, or his crushed, broken tail.

He's in the infirmary for nearly a week, Frieza refusing him access to the rejuvenation tanks. Part of his continued punishment, the tyrant had said.

Even after being discharged from intensive care, it took nearly a month before the prince was physically well again. Before he could walk without limping. Before he could do even light sparring.

Sometimes, in the months following, Nappa would hear Vegeta in their bathroom, sobbing brokenly to himself.

He would try to hide it, try to muffle the noise behind his hands. Try to wash away the tear stains on his cheeks and the redness from his eyes before coming back out. But Nappa knew.

He wouldn't talk about what had happened. What Frieza had done to him. Nappa had tried to get him to, tried to help, but the boy would only shut down when he did, his eyes growing distant, almost vacant. He wouldn't say a word then. Wouldn't look at anybody. He sat pressed into the corner of his bunk most of the time, when they weren't out on missions or engaged in the compound, knees drawn up to his chest, face buried against their tops. He would sit with his arms wrapped round his legs, like he was trying to disappear, trying to hide.

He had grown quieter, somehow. Nappa couldn't figure out how. He'd already been such a quiet child.

Now he speaks rarely more than three or four times a day, if that. When he does, his words are always brief and to the point. He's begun to grow distant... removed.

Nappa had seen similar behavior in soldiers who had seen too much battle, too much death and destruction. But those were always men, fully grown, with vast and varied experiences.

Vegeta had only just turned eight years old. And while he'd seen a great many fields of battle already, he shouldn't have been suffering from the kind of obvious anxiety and stress he clearly was enduring every day.

He didn't act at all like a child. He rarely smiled, and never laughed.

More concerning still was that Nappa was beginning to notice a mean streak developing in the boy that hadn't been there before.

Sometimes, he would purposefully drag out killing his opponents, for no other purpose Nappa could discern than simply torturing them.

The Commander was failing the Prince. He knew that. He was failing to protect him from Frieza's tortures, from the bullying and harassment of the tyrant's many powerful underlings, and so failing to protect him from the mental and emotional toll of such treatment.

It was Vegeta who, out of the three of them, most interested Frieza, who caught Frieza's attention, and so it was Vegeta who, out of the three of them, suffered the most. By far.

Nappa knew that, if things kept on this way, one day, Vegeta would break.

He would break, and when that day came, the boy could very well become exactly as the one who served to torment him without mercy. Day in and day out.

Nappa could only pray such a day would never come to pass.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, chapter six has been completely rewritten and revised, just to let you know!

Yamcha ends up in the hospital. He's lucky, Bulma knows, that he hadn't suffered anything more than a broken arm.

After Vegeta had caught his last strike, he'd twisted his arm grotesquely until the awful sound of bone cracking had snapped through the room, followed fast by Yamcha's choked screams.

Bulma hadn't had time to get her mouth open to beg the Saiyan to stop.

Vegeta had dropped Yamcha a moment later before blasting off from inside the living room, blowing through the ceiling and disappearing into the sky, leaving a gaping hole in the roof of Capsule Corps main compound.

Bulma hasn't seen him since, and has tried to put the anxiety that fact is causing her from her mind by immersing herself in work.

Sometimes it works. Most of the time it doesn't.

She'd felt bad for Yamcha, in a way. But she also knows what happened to him was his own fault. Only an idiot would antagonize Vegeta the way he had.

Bulma thinks they're all lucky the world hasn't exploded. It was weird, realizing Vegeta had the power to destroy the planet, and that had been a very real fear of hers when he'd left. But as the days had gone on and the planet remained, she'd begun to relax on that front.

She just hopes the Saiyan prince returns soon.

She's worried about him, she can't deny it.

She glances at her watch, her eyes widening slightly as she realizes it's already well into the evening.

She's been down here in the lab for nearly eight hours.

Standing from her chair, she stretches, and realizes she should probably get herself something to eat.

She turns for the exit and nearly chokes on the sharp gasp which sticks in her throat before coming out.

Vegeta is standing there in the doorway, leaned against the frame, arms crossed over his chest, staring back at her impassively.

He's dressed in a tank top and sweat pants, the hems stuffed into a pair of soft, CC boots.

He looks good. Handsome, Bulma thinks absently as her shocked nerves finally settle.

She swallows, straightening and looking back at him.

"You're back." She says, proud of how she keeps her voice from shaking.

"Mmm." He answers, not moving from his spot.

Bulma's thoughts take a moment longer to start really moving, and she blinks.

"When?" She blurts.

"... Today." He answers after a long moment.

A slight embarrassment begins to come over Bulma then, realizing that he'd been watching her and she hadn't even realized it.

"How... how long have you been standing there?" She goes on.

Vegeta shrugs.

"... Some minutes." He answers vaguely.

Sometimes, Bulma thinks, this man's refusal to really talk drives her absolutely crazy.

She pushes past her frustration and her dissipating unease, stepping forward.

"Well, I was just about to go to the kitchen to get something to eat. You wanna come with me?"

Now it's Vegeta's turn to look uncertain. He stares back at her with a perplexed expression.

"... You aren't angry with me?" He asks finally.

"Angry with you?" Bulma asks in return, confused.

Vegeta straightens, giving her room to move past in the doorway.

"For breaking your buffoon of a mates arm and putting a whole in the roof of your home." He says flatly.

He's careful to keep any emotion out of his voice, Bulma notes. But underneath the controlled tone, she thinks she can hear an almost kind of trepidation. It's probably her imagination, but still, she can't quite help the small smile which tugs at her lips, at the thought that he might actually be worried about upsetting her.

"Well, first of all," she starts, moving past him, out into the corridor. She hopes he'll follow, and is deeply pleased when he moves behind her, keeping behind her shoulder by a pace or two as she makes her way to the elevators. "He's not my mate any more. I broke up with him, remember?"

"Then you were earnest?" He asks.

"Yes." She says, pressing the elevators call button. "I've had it with Yamcha's cheating and immaturity. He's a good person, underneath it all, but a girl can only put up with so much. As to your other question," she glances back at Vegeta, seeing him standing back from her, staring at her intently.

He looks cute, she thinks, and she smiles again.

"I can't say I approve of what you did. I mean, I don't like to see anyone get hurt, ever. And you certainly cost my parents a hefty bill with the repairs to our ceiling. But... I can't say Yamcha didn't deserve it either. He was being a straight up asshole."

The elevator doors come open and she moves on, turning and looking at him expectantly to follow.

He seems to hesitate a moment before following suit, situating himself in the opposite corner, almost pressing himself into it as he crossed his arms over his chest tightly and fixes his gaze on the floor.

Bulma bites her lip, studying him for a moment.

He's plainly uncomfortable, but she can't figure out if it's because of what she's said or because he's stuck in such a tight space with her.

Maybe both.

She remembers what he'd said about never being with anyone intimately, and it strikes her again as such a bizarre irony. Here he is, a hardened, tested and no doubt world weary soldier, and he's probably never even been kissed by a girl.

"Thank you, by the way." She says after a moment. That gets him to look up at her. "For standing up for me like that before, with Yamcha I mean."

"Tch." Vegeta scoffs lightly, turning his face away. "He is a fool."

"Hey, you don't have to convince me." Bulma laughs lightly. "Yamcha's proven, if nothing else, that he needs to grow the fuck up."

Bulma sees Vegeta's lips twitch, almost like he's going to smile, but his expression remains placid, unmoved.

"... How come you let him hit you like that?" She asks after a moment, her voice quieter with uncertainty. She doesn't want to piss him off, but the question had been bothering her since the whole incident occurred.

He doesn't move, doesn't answer for long seconds, and Bulma thinks for a moment that she's effectively ended their conversation with her prying, when his voice suddenly breaks the silence.

"Psychological manipulation." He says softly, his face casting down once more. "You let the enemy think they have a chance. Lure them into overconfidence. Essentially then, they make their own defeat that much easier."

He's speaking from experience, that much seems obvious to Bulma.

Though whether the experience was of him playing the mental game or the game being played on him, she was less certain.

More than that, Bulma knows Vegeta wouldn't have to rely on any such means to beat Yamcha. He could have simply overpowered him at any point. Could have out skilled him too.

She opens her mouth to point that obvious fact out, when he abruptly continues.

"I needed to be hit." He says, and Bulma blinks, not understanding.

He looks up at her then, face eerily blank.

"I don't feel right... not being hit."

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Vegeta wakes in the dead of night, starting violently up from the hard slab he calls a bed.

Sweat drenches his forehead, a thick sheen covering his bare torso. There's some nightmare he'd been having, but already the memory of what it had been is fading fast away, and his breaths come short and quick, the bitter after taste of fear filling his mouth.

He blinks against the darkness of the room, glancing to his left, and he can't quite help the relief which floods him as he makes out the black outline of Raditz' form, lying on the cot adjacent, turned on his side, his back to Vegeta. The older boy is breathing deeply and evenly, fully asleep, and the Prince shoves down a childish urge to crawl into the bed beside him and bury himself against his back.

He turns away, spotting Nappa's massive frame draped over his own bed on the side opposite, practically spilling over the sides, his limbs and torso far too long and broad to properly fit on the small mattress. Vegeta's wondered more than his fair share of times how his guardian can fall asleep at all on such an ill-fitting cot, but then, Nappa has proven again and again an ability sleep anywhere with little difficulty at all.

Vegeta guesses that's from years of spending long nights on fields of battle.

He's only just started to experience that himself.

Turning away from Nappa, he gropes blindly for a moment in the dark, his small hand sweeping underneath his pillow for his scouter.

When he finds it he switches the power on, reading the time in the upper left hand corner of its lens.

2:20 in the morning.

He sighs, switching the scouter back off and replacing it under his pillow. He'd started keeping it there ever since that bastard Cui had snuck into their quarters in the middle of the night that one time and stolen it.

Zarbon had given him a severe thrashing because he'd "lost" it. Frieza's right hand lieutenant hadn't been interested in hearing the reasons for why. He'd said Vegeta needed to learn to keep better track of his things.

"The only thing you idiot monkey's seem to understand is violence, so I'm going to beat the lesson into you until you realize the importance of keeping track of what's provided you by the PTO. You own nothing, you little swine. Not even the clothes on your back. You lose Frieza's money each time you display such caviler and thoughtless conduct, not your own. And that just simply won't do."

Cui had gotten what seemed like endless mileage out of the whole thing, especially after he'd gotten a look at the prince's battered face the next day. He'd laughed and laughed, Vegeta remembered.

Shaking his head of the memory, Vegeta silently slips from his bed, standing there for long moments, not knowing what to do.

It's going to be hours before morning, hours before either Raditz or Nappa wakes up, and the prince knows with certainty that he isn't going to be able to fall asleep again tonight.

Once he wakes, he's up for good. It's been that way for a few years now.

It's so early that none of the base facilities will be in operation yet, most everyone else asleep too, except the night patrol guards. And anyway, Vegeta knows better than to wander outside their quarters alone at this hour. Nappa had warned him against it enough times, but as usual, Vegeta had had to see for himself once, when he'd woken in the early morning hours like now.

He'd managed to fight off his assailants that night. Only he'd killed one, and Frieza had starved him nearly a week for the infraction. That wasn't something the prince ever wanted to experience again. They were allowed precious little food as it was, the only meals given without cost the once daily lunch they were served in the canteen. Everything else had to be paid for from the credits they were given upon completion of successful missions, and the credits, along with the missions, were limited. The three of them lived on a strict budget for it.

There wasn't any point in the last three years that Vegeta had had a full stomach. There was always the ache of hunger, floating at the periphery of his consciousness. He'd learned to ignore it, for the most part. But when he wasn't allowed any food at all... It was worse than most beatings, except for when Frieza himself decided to doll out punishment. Those times... Those times, Vegeta was always certain he was going to die.

Sometimes he thought it would be better if he did. At least Frieza wouldn't own him anymore, then... At least that.

Standing motionless for some seconds longer, he finally starts, making his way across the tiny space, towards a back corner where they keep a small dresser and desk. It's behind the dresser that Vegeta spends most nights when he wakes like this, curled between it and the wall. It's also where he keeps hidden behind the grate of an air vent a small stash of personal belongings which he's managed to acquire over the few years he's been here. Some pretty rocks he's collected from the various worlds they've gone to, some small trinkets and baubles. It's nothing, in truth. But Vegeta knows if the things were to be discovered, they would be taken from him, and he would be punished for looting.

It's also where he keeps a small book which he sometimes writes in. He always keeps this nearest the back of the vent, more fearful of it being discovered than the other items.

It's with this book he keeps himself occupied nights like this.

Were Raditz or Nappa to ever discover it, he would be humiliated, and the thought alone is enough to bring a flush to his face. But if Zarbon or Dodoria or Frieza were to discover it... it would be bad. That was all Vegeta knew.

He wrote often about his father. About how much he missed him. About how he hoped he would come for him soon, though with each day passed without word from the King of Vegetasei, that hope grew more and more dim.

He wrote about how much he hated Frieza. He hated him. Wrote his secret desires to someday grow strong enough to topple the tyrant. To defeat him in one on one battle, and liberate his people.

He dreamed of what his father would say to him, when that day came. Imagined his eyes clear and bright with pride for his son.

Dropping down to his knees, Vegeta presses himself quietly between the dresser and the wall, being as silent as possible as he scoots farther in and reaches for the loose vent grating, pulling it carefully free.

He reaches in, rooting around until he feels his fingers brush against the rough cloth of the bag filled with his small collection, pulling it out.

He holds it for a moment, before untying the string and gently dumping the contents out onto the floor.

For a while then he just looks at the things. Beads and rocks and pieces of jewelery. Things he'd found scattered and lost across the scorched surfaces of ruined planets.

He wondered sometimes who the things he'd collected once belonged to.

But those thoughts he would always push quickly away.

They'll be another purge mission coming up for them in the next few days.

He wishes it was today. He wishes they could leave when the light came, and he could get away from here for a while. Just a little while.

He doesn't want to go out there. Doesn't want to have his training session with Zarbon. Doesn't want to eat breakfast in the canteen and have to face Cui or the Ginyu's, or any of the other soldiers that always fuck with them. Doesn't want them to pull his tail, or call him names, doesn't want to hear again how he's a dumb, stinking monkey, an ignorant savage.

Doesn't want to end up back in medical, doesn't want to spend another half a day in a rejuvenation tank.

He wants to go home.

He wants to see Father.

He gathers his small collection back into the cloth bag and holds it against his chest, sinking down onto his side, curling himself into a tight ball.

He wants to go home so much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your support guys! Please leave a review if you get a chance!


	7. Chapter 7

Bulma stares back at him, her brain refusing to process the words he's just spoken.

He stares back at her for long seconds, his black eyes boring into her, as if daring her to say anything at all. Only Bulma can't, and after a moment, Vegeta turns away, letting loose a disgusted scoff.

It's that moment Bulma's brain decides to start working again.

“You need to be hit?” She stammers. “W-what, you mean like... some kind of masochist or something?”

“No!” Vegeta growls, staring intently at the wall. “I don't like to be hit. I just...” He growls again, a frustrated sound. “I can't explain it. My life is... was... there was a routine to it. A structure. And now...”

His hands lift suddenly, burying in his thick hair, his face screwing up like he's in pain.

“... I used to train with... with Zarbon... with Dodoria... they were stronger than me. They always... I grew used to daily beatings. It would help me to grow stronger, to improve, and now there's nothing, no one to fight, no one to train with...”

Bulma bites her lip as he trails off, staring vacantly at nothing.

“You could always ask Gohan and Piccolo if you could train with them,” she starts. “or even Tien...”

“Those weaklings have nothing to offer me.” He cuts her off abruptly.

Bulma feels her temper flare at his continued dismissive tone towards her friends.

She crosses her arms over her chest, glaring back at him.

“Well then you shouldn't go whining about it!” She snaps back angrily.

That gets him to look at her.

“I'm not whining...”

“Yes you are.” She cuts him off now. “And there's no point if you aren't willing to try and find a solution. I'm offering you one, and you're so quick to cut it down. Why do you have to be so rotten about my friends?”

He turns his face away then, glaring at the wall instead, his arms crossing over his own chest.

Bulma shakes her head.

“Why can't you try being nice? I bet if you asked them, they would let you train with them all you wanted.”

For a moment, it looks like Vegeta is going to reply with some scathing comment, but instead he only scoffs, keeping his eyes locked on the wall.

Bulma can't help but smirk.

“Come on. It can't be that bad, can it?” She teases.

Vegeta doesn't say anything, his jaw only clenching tighter.

Bulma sighs, and the elevator dings, the doors opening onto the first floor.

“Come on, I'll make us some lunch.” She says, stepping into the hallway.

She's relieved when he follows, silent at her back as they make their way to the kitchen.

He continues to be silent once they reach it, pulling out a chair and sitting at the table as she goes about throwing something together.

She supposes he must be used to it, being waited on hand and foot. He is a prince, after all.

But then she remembers he hadn't been allowed that rank for long, being taken in by Frieza at so young an age.

From everything he'd said, she suspected he wasn't ever considered anything more to Frieza or his upper ranking officers than a somewhat useful grunt.

Knowing the Saiyan's pride, and the fact that he had been born to rule an entire planet... that must have been a particularly hard pill to swallow for him. She couldn't really imagine the frustration, or the humiliation.

She tries thinking what that might be like if she were in the same position. If she had been born into wealth and power, as she had been, but instead of inheriting what was her legal right, she'd instead been kidnapped by some war lord and turned into his slave. 

Just imagining it is enough to spark a sense of real anger in her gut, and she realizes a moment later that she's gripping the spatula a little too tightly in her hand, her teeth grinding together.

God, it must have been horrible.

Shaking her head of the thoughts, she instead concentrates on finishing their pancakes, trying to calm herself down.

She's marginally successful by the time she finishes stacking their plates, carrying them over to the table and setting his down in front of him.

He stares down at the food, a look of confusion crossing his features.

“What is this?” He asks.

“They're called pancakes.” She answers, smiling. “You pour syrup on them. It's really good. Give it a try.”

She hands him the bottle of syrup, taking her own seat across from him a moment after.

He stares at the bottle, the perplexed look on his face only intensifying.

“You just pop the cap up.” Bulma explains, and it's an effort for her not to laugh as he struggles with it then, clearly not having ever dealt with anything like it.

Finally she can't take it anymore, reaching across the table and taking the bottle from him, opening the cap and handing it back.

Bulma watches as a slight blush actually spreads across his cheeks, his eyes averting away from her.

She knows better than to say anything about it though.

He takes it wordlessly, glaring at it like it's personally offended him, before tentatively turning it over.

The syrup comes out slowly, drizzling into a single puddle on top of his pancakes.

“Spread it around...” Bulma instructs. “And squeeze the bottle to make it pour out faster... Not too hard though!” She adds, seeing the bottle begin to crumple under his absurdly strong grip.

He snorts in annoyance, but loosens his hold, doing as she says.

He practically empties half the bottles contents onto his plate, and Bulma has to hold in a sigh as he places it back in the center of the table for her.

They sit in companionable silence for a while then, Bulma watching with satisfaction as he wolfs down his entire stack of pancakes with gusto.

There's a smudge of syrup at the corner of his mouth, and unthinkingly Bulma reaches across, wiping it away with her fingers.

Instantly he freezes, and she with him as she realizes what she's just done.

Her eyes lock on his as he stares back at her, and she starts to try and pull her hand away, a half stammered apology already slipping past her lips, only suddenly his own hand shoots up, grabbing hold of her wrist, so fast, she couldn't have ever dreamed of avoiding it.

For an instant, sickening fear crushes down on her, followed by panic as she thinks for a moment that he's going to hurt her.

Only she realizes seconds later that he isn't holding her hard at all. That she could, in fact, pull free if she wanted. He has her wrist cupped loosely in his hold, his eyes still fixed on her face, expression unreadable.

She realizes then that this is the first time he's actually touched her on his own. The first time, too, she's felt his naked hands. She can feel the rough callouses along his palm and fingers, and her eyes drift from his face to the appendage, studying it. He has thick hands, broad palmed with thick, powerful fingers. His knuckles are red and slightly swollen, no doubt from striking something, or someone. They have to be the most masculine hands she's ever seen.

“... Ummm...” Bulma starts after several seconds of nothing else happening.

As abruptly as he'd grabbed her, he lets her go, standing and turning away.

There's an instant, powerful sense of regret in Bulma with the loss of contact, and she stiffens, not sure why she should feel anything at all.

“Th... thank you for the meal.” He stutters out, and she swears he sounds embarrassed. 

He starts to leave, and Bulma pushes herself up.

“Wait...” She calls, and he stops, his back to her still.

Her mouth comes open, but she realizes she doesn't even really know why she called out to stop him, doesn't know what she intended to say. There's only a vague sense in her that she doesn't want him to leave.

“I...” she starts, trying to think of something to say. “... I'm glad you liked the pancakes.” She finally pushes out, instantly regretting the stupidity of it. “I mean... I hope you liked them.”

He begins to look over his shoulder at her, stopping before his face turns completely.

“... It was sufficient.” He says after a moment, turning away again. “Thank you.”

This time, when he moves to leave, she doesn't stop him, though still the ache of his sudden absence is a heavy sensation in the pit of her stomach.

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Vegeta bows at the waist as he enters Lord Frieza's conference room, remaining at the door until he's instructed otherwise.

Zarbon and Dodoria are with Frieza, the three of them gathered round a 3-D rendering of one of the many planet's under the purview of the PTO, studying it intently and speaking quietly amongst themselves.

Vegeta isn't sure if they've even realized he's there, though most likely of course they have, and are just ignoring him because they find it funny.

They were always doing that. Putting him through situations where, were he back on Vegetasei, back in his place and proper rank, he would never have to suffer through. They loved to remind him daily that here on Frieza Planet 79, he was no longer anybody's prince.

He starts when Frieza's voice suddenly rises in volume and he begins scolding Zarbon and Dodoria heatedly.

“No, no, NO!” He cries. “You imbeciles! You idiots! We've tried all this already, and each attempt has failed! Have you no new ideas? No new strategies?! What in hell am I keeping you fools around for if you have nothing of value to offer!?”

Both Zarbon and Dodoria begin stammering and talking over each other in their haste to try and calm Frieza, their fear painfully obvious.

Vegeta can't help the small smirk which twists his lips at the sight. Any chance he gets to see those two reduced to bumbling, frightened lackey’s, he relishes, given the fact they do their own best every day to make him feel worthless. Though his amusement at their dilemma doesn't last long as he realizes Frieza is obviously in a foul temper, and his own turn could, likely would, be next.

They three continue to squabble for some minutes more, Vegeta going ignored, until suddenly Frieza calls out to him.

“Vegeta, boy, come up here. I want your opinion.”

Vegeta feels his tail friz, his muscles tightening in anxiety before he forces himself to calm down, moving as instructed, up the small staircase and towards Frieza and the others.

He can feel both Zarbon and Dodoria glaring at him as he makes his way closer, and he does his best to ignore them. They aren't the real threat here.

He can see now that they've been looking at a global map of Frieza Planet 248-4A, a recently acquired planet which, Vegeta had heard rumors, was still resisting takeover with various pockets of resistance spread across the globe.

“Come here child.” Frieza beckons him closer when he stops a few feet from where the three are gathered.

Vegeta hesitates only a moment before doing as he's told, making his way nearer.

“Here, here...” Frieza waves him closer, demanding the Saiyan stand at his side.

Vegeta hates getting so close to Frieza. It always makes his skin crawl... makes him feel exposed and vulnerable. But he knows better than to refuse, and keeps moving until he's at Frieza's side.

He's still absurdly short, having barely grown at all in the three years he's been in Frieza's employ, and even though Frieza himself is extremely short, the top of Vegeta's head just barely comes up past the tyrant's waist. It makes Vegeta feel like even more of a helpless child.

“Do you recognize what we're looking at?” Frieza asks him, putting his arm around Vegeta's shoulders, and it takes every ounce of the Prince's will not to shrug him off.

Instead he nods.

“Frieza Planet 248-4A.” He answers flatly.

Frieza giggles in pleased amusement.

“You have a good head on your shoulders Vegeta, especially for a monkey.” He says.

Vegeta fixes his eyes to the floor, saying nothing.

“It pleases me to see you so well studied on the various planets within my organization. That bodes well for your future rank within my army boy.” He goes on, his voice sickly sweet. 

“Yes, Lord Frieza.” He answers, keeping his gaze down.

“Now, as I'm sure you heard, I'm having a bit of an argument with Zarbon and Dodoria here over how best to quash the resistance still going on on this particular mud ball. The fact that there still is a resistance is, I'm certain you can imagine, more than mildly irritating. Especially since both my top two lieutenants have decided to prove themselves utterly worthless in solving the dilemma.”

Vegeta says nothing to that, keeping still, waiting for whatever question it is Frieza is intending to ask.

“You've more than proven yourself to be a capable strategist on the field of battle, despite your young age. Your father obviously wasn't lying when he claimed you to be gifted in these areas.”

Vegeta feels the tyrant's hand squeeze over his shoulder.

“So the question I wish to put to you, young one, is, looking at the layout of their forces here, what strategy might you implement in putting them down?”

Zarbon scoffs loudly.

“Lord Frieza, you can't possibly expect a child of eight to come up with a more suitable approach to this problem than...”

“You'll shut your mouth Zarbon, if you value your life.” Frieza cuts him off sharply, shutting the outburst down.

“Now, you were saying Vegeta?” The tyrant resumes.

Vegeta swallows past the dryness in his throat, steeling himself.

It's obvious to him, looking at the layout of the enemy forces, what the best course of action is. So obvious, in fact, that he can't imagine how it is that either Zarbon or Dodoria weren't able to see it.

He says nothing of that though.

“They're using guerrilla tactics.” He says matter of factly, keeping his eyes on the map. “Using the planets thick forestation to hide and conduct coordinated surprise attacks. Blunt force isn't going to work on this sort of thing.”

“As we've discovered, thanks to Zarbon and Dodoria's idiocy.” Frieza agrees. “So then, what do you recommend?”

“You need to smoke them out. Burn the forests and force them to the surface. Then you can wipe them out with little difficulty, I would imagine. It's a lot of grunt work, but if you'll let me take my team and two hundred of your men, I can have the planet secured for you in under a day.”

“Ohh! That's my smart little monkey!” Frieza exclaims, and Vegeta clenches his jaw, lowering his gaze. “Do you really think you could stamp out their forces so quickly? Zarbon and Dodoria have been failing at it for several weeks now.”

“I'm confident that I can, my lord.” Vegeta replies quietly. “But I would need to be awarded credits for the effort. It's been nearly a month since our last mission and we're almost out of supplies. We... we need to eat.”

Frieza laughs, his hand squeezing tighter over the prince's shoulder, painfully now.

“Aren't you a bold one!” He says. “Making demands!”

Vegeta says nothing, holding his breath. It was a risk to make such a demand, he knows. But he and the others were growing desperate. They never knew if Frieza was going to bombard them with mission upon mission, or if he was going to keep them grounded at base with nothing to do for long stretches of time. This last month had been the latter, and they had already been getting low in credits before then. They hadn't been able to purchase any food for nearly two weeks now, and were just barely getting by on the one free meal a day from the canteen. The hunger is a constant, awful ache in the pit of Vegeta's stomach.

“Oh, very well. If you accomplish the mission in the time you've claimed you can, you'll be amply rewarded. But if you fail...”

Frieza doesn't need to finish the sentence. Vegeta knows full well what will happen should he fail. Not only will they get nothing for their work, he'll also be punished in some manner, something physical probably, beatings, or starvation, though the latter wouldn't be much different from what he was suffering now.

“Well then,” Frieza goes on, oblivious to his thoughts. “run along now and get your little friends ready. You'll be leaving in one hour. Zarbon here will arrange the other men for you.”

“Yes, my lord.” Vegeta answers, stepping back and bowing accordingly.

He's quick to take his leave then, eager to go and find both Nappa and Raditz and inform them of the development. They've been needing work for so long now, and he knows they'll be happy to hear they've finally got a mission.

It won't be easy. Vegeta thinks he may have overestimated his claim for securing the planet in his eagerness to win them the job, but still, it would be possible to accomplish it if they just pushed themselves a little.

He makes it to the lift, calling it and waiting for it to arrive.

It does a moment later, and as the doors come open, a sudden dread comes over the young Saiyan.

It's all the warning he gets before he's shoved from behind into the open lift.

He goes careening into the back wall, just barely catching himself on it, his balance badly off. Still, he manages to spin around, already crouching into a defensive posture, ready for a fight.

His eyes land on the broad, tall figure of Zarbon, filling the lift's threshold a moment before he moves inside, letting the doors slide shut behind him.

Vegeta's heart sinks to the pit of his stomach at the sight, a numbing fear washing through him as Frieza's right hand man reaches out and smashes the lift's emergency stop button with his fist, cutting it off from the outside.

Vegeta unconsciously presses himself up against the wall, staring up at Zarbon, holding his defensive stance.

“You worthless little shit...” Zarbon says, taking a step closer, towering over the Saiyan, and Vegeta is suddenly all too aware of how cramped a space they're in.

He refuses to show his fear though, glaring up at Zarbon with plain hate in his eyes.

“What the hell do you want Zarbon?” He hisses. “Whatever it is, I don't have time for your whining. I've got to get ready for...”

It's a mistake to mouth off that way, made clear when Zarbon closes the distance between them more quickly than Vegeta can track with his eyes.

In the next instant, the prince finds himself spun around, his face smashed up against the lifts back wall and his right arm twisted painfully behind his back, Zarbon's hold on his wrist growing increasingly tighter, wrenching more violently.

Vegeta swallows down the sound of pain which tries to slip past his lips, squeezing his eyes shut and grinding his teeth.

Zarbon's other hand finds the back of his head, crushing his face harder against the wall.

“I don't know what you're trying to pull, you stupid little animal, but if you think you can get away with making me look a fool in front of Frieza, you're about to find out how great a folly that really is.” Zarbon hisses against his ear.

“... I don't know what the fuck you're talking about!” Vegeta chokes back, the pain growing almost unbearable. Zarbon is going to break his arm at this rate, he thinks dismally. If he isn't operating at one hundred percent, the mission would be compromised, and they may not finish within the promised completion time. And if that happens...

“Don't play ignorant with me, you sickening fuck!” Zarbon replies, twisting Vegeta's wrist brutally. This time, the prince can't quite hold in the moan of pain which breaks past his clenched teeth. “You knew exactly what you were doing. But let me enlighten you to something, Vegeta. No matter how many clever little tricks you may have to amuse Frieza with, the fact remains you're still a filthy, worthless, good for nothing monkey. And you'll always be a good for nothing monkey. And Frieza, no matter how amusing he may find you, won't ever allow an ignorant, dumb brute like you or your ilk to ever be more than a cog in the wheel that runs his empire. You're nothing more than a plaything. Nothing more than a glorified slave. And if you ever make me look foolish in front of him again, I'll end your pathetic little life so quickly, it will be as if you never even existed. Understand?”

Rage boils hot and unyielding in Vegeta's chest.

“Fuck you Zarbon!” He screams, not caring anymore. Not caring what the bastard does to him.

“Wrong answer.” Zarbon says.

There's the sound of bone snapping, and then a white hot pain is lancing up Vegeta's arm, into his shoulder, so terrible, that for an instant, he goes blind. He tries to scream, but the only sound to emerge is a pitiful, half sobbed whimper, and then he's being spun back around, dizzyingly fast.

His spotting vision is met with Zarbon's sneering, hateful face, and then the blurred sight of a clenched fist, flying towards him.

There's an explosion of white and a deafening, high pitched ringing in his ears.

What happens after that, Vegeta doesn't know. The world only fades away to nothing.


	8. Chapter 8

It's the first time she sees him have a panic attack, and it is absolutely fucking awful.

She knows what's caused it, without needing at all to ask, and she marvels vaguely, behind her fear and panic, at how well she's come to know this man in such a short period of time.

Given, they were all shaken up, considering what had just happened. But all of them had gotten over it fairly quickly. Were all laughing and joking and celebrating their reunion with Goku in the atrium. 

Vegeta hadn't joined them, and that hadn't seemed unusual to Bulma. Of course he hadn't. Despite his presence among them being tolerated, absolutely none of them considered Vegeta a friend... Except her, she supposed.

She'd begun to think of the Saiyan as just that, albeit only privately. She didn't yet have the courage to speak her feelings aloud to anyone.

So no, his absence at their celebration in and of itself hadn't struck her as strange.

Only something had been bothering her, and she knew what that was too.

It was the look she'd seen in Vegeta's eyes, when Frieza had shown up. When he'd shown up with his father.

There'd been absolute fear there, and an awful, crushing resignation, like Vegeta had just given up, had just accepted that he and the rest of them were all going to die, or worse... 

And she'd watched as that fear and resignation had etched deep lines of anxiety in his features, leaving his emotions exposed in a way she'd never seen.

And then that mysterious young man had shown up, claiming to be from the future. Had single handedly taken Frieza and his father out like it was child's play, and Bulma had seen shock, and then hurt added to Vegeta's fear, before he'd wiped it away behind a stoic, unreadable mask.

And then Goku had come back, finally, showing off some new ability which to her seemed to defy all logic. An ability to teleport to anywhere in an instant. 

Vegeta had stood off to the side, separate from the rest of them, and she'd caught him more than once staring at Goku with a frightening intensity, but again his expression unknowable.

Bulma knew Vegeta had developed what some might call an unhealthy obsession with Goku. Knew that he agonized over the fact that Goku had become stronger than him. And now this new boy, who also seemed stronger, if what he'd done to Frieza was any indication.

She'd seen the signs of Vegeta falling apart, out there in the desert, she just hadn't thought...

But her nagging concern had at last drawn her from her friends, out into the house, looking for the Saiyan prince.

And she'd found him, hiding away in the bathroom of his guest quarters, not able to breathe.

He's pressed with his back up against the wall between the toilet and the bathtub, gasping desperately, eyes wide and blind, his whole body shaking uncontrollably.

She's tried pulling him out of it, grabbing hold of him, shaking him gently, putting her hands on his face and calling his name. Only he doesn't seem to even realize she's there, his eyes unseeing, his broken gasps deafening in her own ears as they fill the space.

She doesn't know what to do. Doesn't know how to handle this. She can feel her own panic surging out of control, an awful helplessness seeming to strangle her.

Think Bulma, she tells herself desperately. Think!

None of the others will know what to do. She doesn't think any of them would be willing to help, even if they did, except...

Goku, she remembers. Goku was back.

She isn't sure why she thinks of her oldest friend then, only... he's the only other Saiyan left in the world... in the universe, beside Vegeta himself. The only one, and Vegeta was so lonely, she knew, so horribly lonely, even if he would never admit it aloud. She could see it.

And what choice did she have here, anyway. She wasn't able to help Vegeta now. That much was obvious.

And that decides it for her, as she stands, pulling out her phone from her pocket and dialing her mother, the line picking up less than two rings in.

“Oh, darling, where are you calling from?” Her mother asks in her usual, cheerful manner. “You left the party so abruptly!”

“No time to explain Mom.” Bulma rushes out. “Can you put Goku on the phone right away?”

“Oh?!” Her mother exclaims, confused. “Of course. Just a moment sweetie.”

There's some rustling, and the sound of happy, laughing voices on the other end, Bulma's patience wearing quickly thin and anxiety skyrocketing before Goku's loud, excited voice blares through the speaker.

“Yo! Bulma!” He starts. “Ohh, there's so much good food here! Thank you for...”

“Goku,” Bulma cuts him off fast. “I need you to come here, quickly! Vegeta's having some sort of panic attack and I can't get him to calm down!”

There's a pause on the other end, and she can practically see Goku's face, brow furrowed in confusion.

“... Vegeta?” He finally asks.

“Yes,” Bulma nearly shouts, her patience finally gone. She can hear Vegeta choking on his own gasps, and she glances at him, terrified. “Please, hurry! I need you to help Goku! I don't know how to help him!”

If she's expecting any kind of an answer, she doesn't get one, only a moment later Goku suddenly appears out of thin air beside her, and it's everything Bulma can do to hold her scream in.

She doesn't know if she's ever going to get used to that.

“Where is he?” Goku asks, but he hardly needs to as he turns, and Vegeta is there plain to see, still curled between the toilet and bathtub, his face turning red from the lack of oxygen, his small body shaking more pronouncedly.

For an instant, Bulma sees shock pass over Goku's features, and then, as she knew it would, determination.

He steps forward, crouching down before the other Saiyan.

Vegeta doesn't even seem to realize Goku is there, and it only reaffirms to Bulma how far gone he is in his attack.

“Yo, Vegeta...” Goku starts, looking him right in the face. “hey, come on man, you need to breathe.”

Vegeta's eyes are fixed on Goku's face, but it's like he's staring straight through him, seeing something else entirely.

“Vegeta,” Goku says again when he gets no response. “don't do this. Come on, I know your stronger than this. Come on...”

Still no response, and Goku reaches out then, laying his big hands on Vegeta's shoulders, and Bulma thinks Vegeta has never looked more like a child, with Goku's wide, tall frame crouching over him, looking so much like a man. Doesn't think Vegeta's ever looked so small and helpless.

“You're stronger than this Vegeta.” Goku goes on, his voice impossible sure. “Like when Krillin hit you with the Genki Dama and you didn't die. You got back up man. That woulda' killed anyone else. Come on man. Breathe.”

And like a miracle, suddenly there's a desperate, sharp inhale as Vegeta at last breathes in, his eyes going wide as if in shock from the sudden oxygen in his lungs, like he's just broken the surface of the ocean after being under for hours.

And he keeps sucking in air, great, wracking inhales as he tries to make up for the past long minutes when it had seemed he wasn't getting any air at all.

Goku smiles, leaning back, his hands still on Vegeta's shoulders.

“There you go man!” He exclaims happily, and Bulma can hear the relief in his voice. If she hadn't been able to hear any fear in it before, she knows it had been there regardless.

With the return of his ability to breathe, recognition seems to bleed back into Vegeta's eyes, and Bulma sees the moment when he recognizes Goku.

For an instant, there's naked confusion and fear in the older Saiyan's expression, followed quickly by plain embarrassment, and soon after by red faced anger.

“Get the fuck off of me!” Vegeta snarls, his hands shooting forward and slamming into Goku's chest, knocking him backward so hard he goes sliding across the bathroom to crash into the opposite wall.

In a moment Vegeta is up on his feet, looking like some insane beast, his chest heaving up and down as he glares at Goku with the most unmasked hatred Bulma has ever seen, and she feels herself shrink back from him in fear, recognizing the look from before. From when he'd first come to Earth with the intention of eradicating them all. She remembers he had very nearly succeeded. Remembers it had taken not only Goku, but Krillin and Gohan and even Yajirobi to finally take him down, and even then, it had really only been pure luck which had allowed it.

She remembers, suddenly, how dangerous Vegeta actually is.

If Goku is feeling any of the same things, he doesn't show it as he pushes himself up to his feet, his expression only confused, and the size difference between him and Vegeta is only more apparent then, towering head and shoulders above the prince, Vegeta's eyes following his up, as unintimidated as Goku himself.

“I was just tryin' to help...” Goku starts after a moment, holding his hands up.

Vegeta snarls again in reply, his eyes cutting suddenly to Bulma, and she steps back again, terrified.

“Stay away from me!” He spits. “All of you!”

He watches them for long seconds more then, his eyes darting back and forth between Bulma and Goku with obvious suspicion and fear, like a trapped animal, before he darts at once to the side, scurrying past them, never taking his sight from them until he's at the bathroom's door, and a moment later, he disappears through it and out of their view.

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

He wakes in a blur of pain and confusion, white hot fire working up through his arm and into his shoulder, and he knows somehow, distantly, that it's broken. The taste of iron is thick in his mouth and his head pounding like thunder in his brain. 

It takes too long for his vision to return, and he nearly gives into panic at it, thinking, for agonizing moments, that he's been somehow blinded.

But eventually it starts to come back, though it remains spotted and blurry for hours afterward.

He can't remember at first what's happened, his mind struggling to recall as he pushes himself up to his knees. He makes the mistake of trying to put weight down on his broken arm, and he can't quite keep down the cry of agony which slips past his lips, dizziness and pain nearly putting him back to the floor.

Somehow he manages to stay upright, and he pushes past the pain, trying to look around him. He doesn't know where he is, doesn't know what happened, can't remember.

Gradually, his surroundings become recognizable, and his heart begins to hammer painfully in his chest, panic blooming underneath the immediate pain.

He's in the waste disposal dump, underneath the main base compound, surrounded by the millions of pounds of trash accumulated by the thousands of men in Frieza's army. 

He only knows that because he's looked at so many maps of the compound that he could recognize it, even without having actually ever been down here.

He tries desperately to remember what had happened, not knowing how it is he got down here.

There had been something important, he thinks. Something important he had been meant to do, but he can't remember what, and not knowing is making him feel sick with anxiety.

It had been something important to all of them, him and Nappa and Raditz... Hadn't it? Something they needed to do, something which was going to improve their current situation...

Like a flash of light going off in his head, he suddenly remembers. Everything.

The purge mission that Frieza had entrusted to him, his promise to the Emperor that he and his team could have the planet under their control within a single day, the hope that it would afford him and the others enough credits to finally get out of the slump they'd been in.

And then Zarbon with him in the elevator. Zarbon's delusional ranting, and then attacking him. 

Zarbon had broken his arm like this, and then he'd knocked him cold. He must have dumped him down the disposal shoot, Vegeta realizes with sickening dismay and shame. Like a literal piece of trash.

Only the shame doesn't last long, instead replaced by awful dread and panic as he realizes fully what's happened.

How long has he been out? How long has he been down here?

He reaches up reflexively for his scouter to check the time and feels instantly that it's missing, another screw up to add to the suddenly growing list, another thing for which Frieza will have his head.

Vegeta begins shaking, and he can't stop it, even as he curses himself for his weakness and stupidity. His fear is greater than his humiliation in that moment, and he has to bite down hard his lip just to keep from crying.

He wants his father so powerfully then, he feels nauseous with it, and he presses the heel of his palm against his eyes, trying to stamp out the stinging tears which threaten behind.

He'll be lucky if Frieza doesn't kill him now. He'll be lucky if Frieza doesn't kill Nappa and Raditz just to leave him alone here.

He can't quite hold in the strangled sob which pushes past his clenched teeth, and it's like chain reaction setting off. He sobs again. And then again. And in a moment, he's crying, weeping like some stupid, pathetic child, and he can't stop, even as he curses and gnashes his teeth at himself, slaps his own face, trying to snap out of it. 

Nothing's working, and he can't stop.

He sits there for long minutes, crying uncontrollably, his hatred for himself growing stronger by the moment as he presses his face against his good arm, pain and fear and defeat making his sobs loose faster and harder.

What is he going to do? 

He knows it must have been hours since his encounter with Zarbon. Him and his team should have been off planet long ago, headed already for their mission. Frieza had ordered Zarbon to deploy two hundred of his own men, at Vegeta's request, and Vegeta isn't naive enough to think Zarbon neglected his lord's orders, even while fully aware Vegeta was incapacitated. Knows full well Zarbon likely executed his orders with the sole intent of incurring Frieza's wrath all the more, for the way it would look, like it was Vegeta who was purposefully wasting the tyrant's time and resources. 

Despair washes over the young Saiyan like a blanket of lead, and for a long, few minutes, he allows it to take over him, paralyzing him as he sits there in helpless terror and resignation, until after a long while he realizes it isn't doing him any good, wallowing in his own misery.

He's got to at least get up and find out what's going on up above. Has to find out just how much damage has been caused, how deep the trouble he and his companions are really in.

And so he forces himself onto his feet, his head spinning with the rush of blood and the dizzying pain through his arm and jaw.

He feels the bile rising rapidly in his throat, and he barely has time to turn and bend over before he's vomiting violently onto the ground.

All that comes up is a clear liquid. He can't remember the last time he ate anything.

He stands there for a minute, trying to catch his breath, wiping at his eyes to clear the still lingering tears away.

He's got to at least try and find Nappa.

He hopes his guardian is in their quarters still. 

The childish desire to run to the grown Saiyan for protection grips Vegeta hard, even as he knows there's nothing Nappa can do for either of them. And so he pushes it aside, shoving past the pain and forcing himself to move.

He's got to find his way out of here first, back up to the ground levels. He can only pray Frieza isn't already there waiting.

//

Nobody stops him. Nobody is waiting.

It only makes Vegeta's anxiety worsen.

It doesn't help that everyone is staring at him. All of the others soldiers wandering about the base, stopping and looking, pointing and then whispering to each other as he limps by them. 

He hates it here. Hates it so much.

Hates all of them. Sick fucks who seem to exist only to make his own life a living hell. Their eyes gleam with obvious enjoyment to see his battered and broken state, their unconcealed amusement as he walks by, their snickering and chuckling ringing in his ears.

He ignores the stupid insults they throw at his back.

“Hey, dumb monkey...”

“What happened shorty? Get into a fight with a Yardrat?”

“Didn't think that mug of yours could get no uglier...”

“Man, what shit pile did ya crawl outta? Didn't think a monkey could stink any worse...”

He half expects Zarbon or Dodoria to come round every corner he approaches, ready to finish him off, ready to beat him bloody and wrecked. More wrecked than he already is, anyway. Half expects Frieza himself to show up and incinerate him on the spot.

But nothing happens, and Vegeta feels both overwhelmingly relieved and unbearably uncertain as he at last makes it to his quarters and finds no one waiting outside the entrance for him. No Zarbon, no Dodoria, no Frieza. 

Something isn't right, he thinks. Something's going to happen. 

He'd fucked up hard. 

He'd caught a glimpse of the time as he'd made his way here, and calculated he'd been unconscious for at least the last four hours. No way was Frieza going to just let it pass, no way in hell.

He makes a straight line for the entrance, increasing his pace in his anxiousness to get inside and give himself a moment to collect his bearings, to figure out what he's going to do.

It's as he's on the entry that the sliding door comes flying open, Nappa's massive frame filling the entirety of the space.

Vegeta skids to a halt in front of him, his guardian's eyes going wide in apparent shock as he looks down at the boy, followed fast by relief and then naked concern.

“Vegeta!” He cries, and before the prince can at all respond, Nappa reaches out, grasping hold of his good wrist and tugging him gently forward, pulling him inside their quarters. The giant man lifts him up like it's nothing, carrying him farther into the cramped space, setting him down on his bunk.

“Holy shit, you found him!” Raditz is there, jumping down from his own bed and hurrying over. His own face goes slack in shock as he takes in the state of his prince. “What happened?” 

Nappa is crouched in front of Vegeta now, already working to remove his armor and suit as gently as he can.

Vegeta tries to pull away, irritated and embarrassed and in pain. But Nappa holds him fast, restricting his movement.

Vegeta may have a higher battle rating than the general, but Nappa remains, physically, much stronger.

“Hold still,” he tells the young Saiyan. “your arm's broken. I have to set it.”

Vegeta's jaw tightens, and he turns his face away as Nappa finally strips his body armor away, peeling his suit down to his waist, leaving his torso naked.

“Gods...” Raditz breathes, expression horrified as he takes in the deep and ugly bruising marring the boy's pale skin. “Vegeta, what happened? Everybody is looking for you. Frieza's fucking furious and...”

“Shut it Raditz!” Nappa scolds him, pressing his fingers gently along Vegeta's ribs, checking for breaks. 

Vegeta squirms and swallows down the gasps of pain which threaten to break from his throat.

“Does this hurt?” Nappa questions, and Vegeta keeps his face turned away, giving a weak nod.

“Alright... I don't think you've got any broken ribs, but they sure as hell are bruised bad enough.”

Vegeta barely hears him. He keeps hearing Radtiz' thoughtless words from moments before, about Frieza, about Frieza being furious, about everyone looking for him. His eyes sting and he forces them to remain dry.

It's almost impossible to keep still or quiet as Nappa sets his broken arm, and Vegeta finally loses out as he forces the bone straight, a pathetic whimper slipping past his sealed lips, the tears he'd been keeping back bursting past his clamped lids, sliding down his flushed cheeks. The pain is extraordinary.

“It's alright.” Nappa reassures him quietly, rubbing a giant, calloused hand up and down Vegeta's back. “The hard part's over.”

It only takes a few minutes longer for him to make a sling for the princes arm, wrapping the limb tight before helping the boy slip into it. Vegeta manages to keep down any more humiliating sounds, and he wipes at his face with his free hand.

“Here,” Raditz hands Nappa a glass of water which he'd fetched, and Nappa mumbles a thank you as he takes it, handing it in turn to Vegeta. 

“Drink this.” He orders the prince, and Vegeta doesn't protest, gulping the liquid down greedily, unaware of just how dehydrated he'd been until the water hit his throat. He drains the whole glass in an instant, and Nappa wordlessly takes the glass, handing it back to Raditz, who goes for more water without needing to be told to do so.

The next several minutes pass in silence, Vegeta downing three more glass fulls of water. Nappa stays at his side, continuing to rub circles gently into the boy's back and along his shoulders, Raditz standing by anxiously, arms crossed over his chest and tail thrashing wildly behind him. His nervousness is only making Vegeta more so too, and he wants to snap at the older boy to quit it.

Finally Vegeta begins to feel slightly sick from too much water, and he shakes his head when Nappa starts to hand him another glass.

“Alright Vegeta.” He says, placing the untouched glass on a nearby stand.

Vegeta is suddenly all too aware then of his state, and he crosses one arm over his naked chest, lifting his legs up onto the cot. He turns his head away, staring pointedly at the wall.

A long, few seconds of uncomfortable silence, and finally Nappa's gruff voice breaks it.

“What happened Vegeta?” He asks, his voice calm, and Vegeta is thankful for it, even though he won't admit it aloud.

He swallows, humiliation and shame burning at his cheeks, admittance sticking in his throat.

He'd fucked up. Fucked all this up, for all of them, simply because he'd been too dumb to mind his surroundings, to pay attention. Wasn't that the first lesson he'd learned as a warrior? To pay attention?! Hadn't Nappa been the one to teach him that?

“... Vegeta...” His guardian prompts softly.

“Zarbon jumped me.” He finally grinds out, his voice hardly above a whisper. “I was... I was on my way here. We had a mission. Frieza... I was supposed to... I...” He begins to stammer, fear gripping his heart as the full weight of the situation comes raging back to the forefront of his mind.

“Damn it. So that's why...” Raditz breathes, sounding like he's talking to himself. 

Nappa's face tightens with apprehension and anger.

Vegeta glances at him.

“What?” He asks, hating how timid his voice sounds.

For a moment, rage flashes through Nappa's eyes before they look at the prince.

“Zarbon was here earlier, looking for you. He said you ditched the place and disappeared, that he'd gotten two hundred soldiers together at your request, and that you never showed where you were meant to.”

For a moment, Vegeta's own rage drowns out his fear, his face contorting in anger.

“That's a lie!” He snarls. “That fucker jumped me! He said I was trying to make him look bad in front of Frieza. But I wasn't! It's not my fault if him and Dodoria are too stupid to know how to repress a rebellion! It isn't my f-fault!”

“Hey, hey, calm down Vegeta. Calm down.” Nappa starts, placing his hands on the boys shoulders. “We know that. We knew Zarbon was lying through his teeth. I suspected he had something to do with it. I thought...” his voice trails off, his head shaking as he looks away from Vegeta. “I was afraid he did something to you, but I couldn't... I didn't know where to look, and they told us not to leave our quarters.”

A look of utter, frustrated helplessness crosses the giant man's features a moment. Raditz crosses his arms over his broad chest, looking at the floor.

Vegeta knows why.

It doesn't matter if they know the truth. It doesn't matter if Frieza knows the truth. 

The only one who's going to be blamed for the waste of his time and man power is Vegeta. He's the only one.

“... I'm sorry.” He says, voice almost too soft to hear. He keeps his eyes fixed on the wall, his face turned away. 

“Vegeta, don't...” Raditz starts.

“I fucked up.” Vegtea says like he hasn't heard him. He hasn't, really. “I fucked up. We could have had... We were going to have...”

“Vegeta,” Nappa cuts him short, his hand coming up, wrapping round the nape of the boy's neck. “shh. Don't do that. This isn't your fault.”

Vegeta doesn't reply, and he doesn't ask Nappa what it is when his guardian hands him two pills and tells him to take them.

“It'll help with the pain.” He offers anyway, handing the glass of water to the boy.

Vegeta swallows the pills wordlessly.

“Nappa, can I talk to you over here a minute?” Raditz says quietly.

“... Yeah,” Nappa replies after a long moment. He's looking at Vegeta still, watching him with concern, and Vegeta just keeps looking at the wall.

Finally the giant man pushes himself up, reaching out and petting Vegeta's head once more before turning to the older boy and walking with him to the other side of the room.

They'd have to go into the bathroom for more privacy, and even that afforded little, considering how easily sound carried through the thin walls.

Vegeta can hear them talking.

“This is bad.” Raditz whispers, glancing over at the prince before looking up at Nappa. “Frieza's going to kill him...”

Vegeta lays down on his side, turning away from them. He closes his eyes.

“... We won't let that happen.” Nappa says after a long silence, his voice grim.

“How are we supposed to stop him!?” Raditz hisses back, his voice desperate. “That sick fuck will use any excuse to hurt Vegeta, you know that! Half the time he doesn't even need one...!”

“Keep your voice down!” Nappa says harshly, and Vegeta can feel him looking over at him.

“... We'll think of somethin'...” The general goes on after a moment. “... We have to...”

They keep talking, only Vegeta doesn't hear. He lets his mind drift away, falling into a place far from here. 

He goes here a lot now.

This place far away. Where he doesn't have to think...

… Doesn't have to feel.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! So first of all, as always, thank you all for your support! It means so much to me! Second, this chapter's a bit different from the others, as there's no flashback this time, and it's from Vegeta's perspective. Let me know what you think, and I hope you enjoy!

Vegeta wonders sometimes how deeply it is the gods must hate him, that seemingly every moment of his life must be filled with this wretched humiliation and pain.

A panic attack. 

He'd had a panic attack in front of that woman, and in front of Kakarott.

Gods above, why was this happening to him?

He was a bad man. He knew that. The idiot woman didn't seem to know, strange that. Everyone else surely did. 

But even still, Vegeta believed nothing in karma.

Frieza and his ilk, Zarbon, Dodoria, Cui, Ginyu... they'd all met their end, finally. But none of them had suffered the shame and degradation they surely would have deserved in their lives to then. 

They'd had power, control, and they'd used it to its fullest affect, had killed and maimed and enslaved at a rate which put his own to embarrassment. And yet they'd never endured this.

Prince to a race of dead warriors, that title earning him naught but ridicule and providing fodder to others for their amusement. The butt of their most popular jokes.

Little prince, the supposed most powerful warrior ever known to his great race, and yet within Frieza's empire, within his army, nothing more than a laboring grunt, not even strong enough to join the elite forces, not strong enough to serve as an adviser even, or head of any unit but his own.

He'd been a tool, nothing more, and according to Frieza's regard for him, not a particularly useful one, aimed at planets and pockets of resisting fools for the sole purpose of destruction. A monkey good for nothing but chaos and ruination.

Frieza had always left the missions of reconstruction and terraforming to Zarbon and Dodoria, or even Cui and other high ranking officers.

“Oh, ho, ho... Don't be silly Vegeta!” He can still hear the tyrant's voice telling him when he'd one day asked, idiotically, if he might be allowed a mission like theirs, sick to his fill of the death and destruction he'd been surrounded by his whole life. “you know you don't have the brains for that sort of operation. You're just a dumb animal, after all.”

He'd said that to him in front of Zarbon and Dodoria, and Vegeta can still remember exactly how their laughter had sounded. Can still see the gleam of deep satisfaction in their ugly eyes.

And now what?

Only hours ago, Frieza had returned to wreak his death, and whatever other fool might be with him, and Vegeta had watched in paralyzed shock as a boy, little more than a child, had appeared out of thin air and sliced Frieza and his father in two as if it were nothing. As if it were a simple child's game, to end the life of Vegeta's greatest tormentor and conqueror. To kill the being who had kept Vegeta held and controlled under his thumb since he had been a boy of less than five. Who Vegeta had never had the strength or courage to defy, not really. And when he finally found the latter, on that hellhole of a planet called Namek, he had paid for it with his life, and before that a beating so terrible, he hadn't had the presence of mind to even be humiliated, consumed as he'd been by pain and fear.

He'd cried, oh gods, the shame of it still burns his face, makes his stomach churn in sickness and self-hate.

He'd cried in his desperation, in his wretched hopelessness. Cried in his failure, and in his last, despairing longing. Had begged Kakarott then to do for all of them what he had never had the strength to.

It was meant to be him. 

That was what his father had told him. What his father had promised. That it would be him who liberated his people from Frieza's rule. He who slew the tyrant. He who achieved the legend of the Super Saiyan.

It was meant to be him.

And instead it had been a low class and forgotten warrior of their race, born with so little promise, he had been sent as an infant to a place of equal anonymity. A nobody with no title, no rank, no expectation...

Kakarott had achieved the legend. Kakarott had defeated Frieza in battle. Had revenged their people against the emperor. Had done what Vegeta could not.

When he thinks of it... when he thinks of how he had always been too weak, and oh how he knows his father would be ashamed of him were he alive to see his son's failure.

But Vegeta had failed to save him too. Had failed to save any of them. And so none of them knew. None of them knew the grand disappointment their supposed savior had turned out to be. And even in that mercy Vegeta feels the gods scorn.

Let him alone bear the weight of his failure. Let him alone know how truly he had fallen, how truly he had betrayed his peoples hope and trust.

And truly it was like some horrible, cosmic joke told at his expense, that after all of that, a boy of sixteen or seventeen should appear, a boy claiming to be a Saiyan, though Vegeta had never seen any Saiyan appear as he, and slay Frieza with such plain and ignorant ease. Like a child squashing a bug.

When Vegeta had been that boy's age, he had been so terrified of Frieza, he remembers, after more than ten years suffering the tyrant's beatings and games of manipulations, that he hadn't even been able to look his master straight in the eye, hadn't been able to speak to him in a voice louder than a whisper.

That same fear had gripped him unrelentingly just hours ago, when Frieza had come to this planet, and Vegeta had simply resigned himself then. He was going to die, he knew it, and there no longer was any use in fighting. He'd tasted freedom for a single, confusing year, and of course that was all he would be allowed. It hadn't seemed strange to him even. Hadn't even been particularly upsetting, really.

He didn't know what he was doing here anyway. Didn't belong. Didn't belong anywhere anymore. Probably never had.

And then again he'd been saved. He'd been saved.

Why would anyone even bother?

The boy had kept staring at him with an awful look of longing, like he'd expected something out of him. The same, unbearable look that woman sometimes gave him. 

Over that, she seemed always to look at him with fondness, and Vegeta couldn't stand it.

He couldn't stand it. He couldn't understand.

Nobody had ever looked at him that way.

More confusing still, he found himself looking at her, thinking about her so much that it often led him to distraction.

Found himself thinking about her in a way that...

His face heats thinking of it now, and he looks to the dirt beneath him, embarrassed and ashamed.

It would be a lie if he told himself he'd never been interested in women. He had used to watch Nappa and Raditz go off with the many females offering their bodies for sale on whichever mud ball they'd been stationed at at the time, and wonder about what it was they did.

He knew what they did.

They were having intercourse. He knew that.

He used to wonder what it was like though. Wonder what the big deal was.

Nappa and Raditz had tried more than their fair share to convince Vegeta to indulge as they did, going so far as to send women to him. That had started when Vegeta had turned fourteen, and he remembers this beautiful girl appearing suddenly in his tent. She'd had a body unlike anything he'd ever seen, and he'd stared at her with wide, wondering eyes.

And then she'd tried touching him, and he remembers with humiliation that he'd lost it. One of those panic attacks, which had started when he'd been maybe eight, nine years old. Had stopped breathing, just like a few hours ago, in front of Bulma and Kakarott...

He'd thought... when she'd pushed her fingers into the waistband of his pants, and... it had been like when that one, nameless soldier... when he'd been seven years old, and that man had...

His hands are shaking, he realizes, and he shoves them into the pits of his arms, pulling his knees to his chest, pressing his face against them.

He shouldn't think of that. Shouldn't... shouldn't...

He'd never even touched himself.

Raditz had used to make fun of him for it. Had used to ask him teasingly if he was a fruit cake or something.

Vegeta had beat the shit out of Raditz more than a few times for saying stupid crap like that.

Raditz... and Nappa...

He misses them... sometimes.

Fucking ridiculous, he knows. He'd killed Nappa himself, just for fucking embarrassing him in front of that lot of weakling losers. 

It wasn't because he'd been scared. He hadn't been scared. It was only... Nappa had embarrassed him, and Radtiz had already been killed by them, by Kakarott and that Namekian, and that haze had gone off in his head again, like it sometimes did, when things got desperate. When things started getting out of his control. That feeling like he wasn't really there, and everything felt like a threat. Like everything was there to kill him. Nappa, he remembers thinking, he'd looked at Nappa and seen that desperate, pleading look on his face, heard Nappa begging him for help, to help him, to save him, and he'd thought, 'you're going to get me killed too.'. 

Remembers wishing, as he'd grabbed Nappa's hand that last time, remembers wishing they'd never come to this fucking planet. Wishing they'd never sent Raditz here alone...

It had been like throwing a punch. Hadn't thought about who he was hitting. Just knew there was someone in front of him who was a threat, needed to be killed... needed to be killed so he could live...

But it wasn't... it wasn't as if... wasn't as if Nappa or Raditz had ever been his friends. Not really. They'd never protected him, never helped him when Frieza was...

It was always him who took the blame for their failures, always him who was punished. They didn't know half of what went on, and were too fucking cowardly to ask. They never really asked.

Served them right to be dead, Vegeta thinks. Served them right for being too weak to survive...

… He and Raditz used to stay up nights though, sometimes, just talking. And sometimes Vegeta didn't feel so alone those times.

And sometimes Raditz used to give him his food, when there hadn't been enough for all of them. Sometimes Nappa too. Because he took priority. Being their prince. 

And Nappa had used to tend all his injuries, when they couldn't make it to a med bay. Used to bath him and comb his hair, when he's been very young.

Vegeta had thought of him almost like a father then. Thought of Raditz like a big brother who knew more, would carry him around on his shoulders, and Vegeta remembers laughing, really laughing...

… He misses them sometimes, even though it's fucking ridiculous. Weak.

“So are ya gonna fuck the girl?” He hears Nappa say, and Vegeta scowls, his fingers digging into the dirt beneath him.

“Don't be vulgar.” He says to the air.

Nappa laughs.

“You want to, don't you?” He says.

“I want you to leave me alone.” Vegeta replies.

Nappa laughs.

“Come on Vegeta, you see the way she looks at you. I bet she'd let you have your way with her.” Raditz is there now too.

Vegeta glares at them, and he knows they're not really there, but he won't spurn their company either.

“She hates me. They all hate me.” He says flatly to them. 

“Keep tellin' yourself that little man.” Nappa counters, grinning.

Vegeta's scowl deepens.

“I wouldn't know what to do with her anyway.” He snaps, frustrated and embarrassed. “I've never...”

“Pfft, there's nothin' to it Vegeta.” Raditz says. “'Sides, a girl like that, with her looks, she's probably had plenty of guys. She'll show you what to do.”

Vegeta feels an unexpected spike of anger at that, at the idea of the woman having many lovers.

She wasn't that kind of woman, he didn't think.

But what if she was? What if she wanted to have intercourse with him just so she could say she had. What if she didn't actually have any interest in him beyond that? 

She'd laugh at him too, when it became obvious to her that he'd never done... done anything. He'd told her so, and he'd seen the shocked look on her face then. It would only be worse when she could see...

Or what if he tried to initiate something and found out he'd read her entirely wrong? What if she didn't want to have intercourse with him at all? What if she thought he was trying to rape her, like some of the soldiers in Frieza's army had used to regularly do to the women of conquered planets? What if...

He would be lying to himself if he said he didn't want to have intercourse with her.

He'd woken up in the middle of the night too many times with his sheets wet and sticky, the image of her face and body still burning bright against the backs of his eyes to think otherwise.

He'd even almost reached between his own legs while thinking about her, but he'd stopped himself those times. Too obscene. He couldn't...

“Come on Vegeta, you ain't scared, are you?” Raditz teases. “What, of a little lady like that? I mean, I know you're the same size and all, but...”

Vegeta swats at him, and his hand goes through thin air.

“Shut up.” He mutters. “I'm thinking.”

“Ohhh, he's thinking.” Raditz elbows Nappa, chuckling.

“What's the worst that could happen little man?” Nappa asks. “I mean, you've been dead. Gettin' turned down by a girl ain't exactly the end of the world for you.”

“... She'll think I'm stupid.” He says, and realizes a moment later how much of a child he sounds like. Gods...

“You are stupid, if you don't even try with her.” Raditz replies. “Come on man, you're thirty one fucking years old and you've never even been with a girl. It's now or never Vegeta.”

“I don't know how to talk to her!” He nearly shouts, his cheeks flushing red as he admits it aloud. “That... that buffoon wasn't enough to impress her. What am I supposed to do?”

That buffoon, meaning Yamcha or whatever his name was.

He was a pathetic weakling, of course. But Vegeta wasn't so ignorant that he didn't know it wasn't always physical strength that women were looking for.

Yamcha, if he wasn't very strong, was plainly very charming, very tall and very good looking, and he plainly knew those things about himself too. He spoke to women with a confidence and ease which made Vegeta feel uncomfortable, and which reminded him too much of Zarbon's similar confidence with the opposite sex.

Vegeta had enough introspection to know he had none of those things. He wasn't charming, wasn't tall, wasn't good looking, wasn't a good talker, wasn't smooth. 

He was strong. That was it. And not even the strongest among them. Not with Kakarott back.

He had been a prince, once, and if he had inherited his birth right, that would have been enough to win him any hand he chose.

But that was no longer a reality for him. Hadn't been since he was a toddler.

He had nothing to offer Bulma. No title, no position, no wealth. He was destitute, without recourse or prospect of any kind, allowed to live in her home and eat her food by her graciousness towards him alone.

She needed none of those things from him anyway.

From what he had been able to gather, she already had all of that and more, here on her home world. 

“Just talk to her.” Nappa says.

“Go away.” Vegeta replies, and he turns his head away, pressing his chin to his shoulder.

Eventually, they do, Nappa and Raditz' forms fading like hazy smoke carried off on the winds. And then there's just silence, no one else left.

Vegeta reaches down, grabbing up a handful of pebbles, letting them sift through his fingers, back to the ground.

He studies his hands, and thinks they're ugly.

Thick, blunt fingers, wide and calloused palms, big knuckles. They look like a fighters hands. Made for breaking.

He closes his fingers around the few rocks left, and they crumble into dust.

His eyes sting.

He wipes them against his scarred up forearm.

He doesn't know what he's doing here.

She wouldn't want him. 

Wouldn't know what to say to her if she did. Wouldn't know what to say.

He was talking to ghosts. 

Whatever he thought he saw in her eyes, it wasn't really there anyhow.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much again guys for all your support. I'm really glad to know you're continuing to enjoy the story. There's some scientific mumbo jumbo in this chapter which isn't at all real or accurate to reality, lol. So just so you know, if there's any scientists reading. Anyway, hope you enjoy, and please, again, let me know your thoughts if you have a chance. Also, there's still going to be flashbacks included in this story, only spread out a little more sparingly than every chapter.

“What are you doing?”

Bulma gasps sharply, her heart jumping into her throat and papers flying as she flails.

It takes her only a moment to regain her composure as her brain catches up, and she turns, glaring up from her seat at Vegeta, standing nearly directly behind her.

He's got his arms crossed over his chest, the compact tightness of his small frame highlighted by the tank top and sweat pants he's wearing. His eyes are fixed on her computer screen, scrolling over the code she'd been inputting. 

She hadn't even heard him come in.

“What are you doing?” She snaps back, annoyed. It was a sort of generally understood rule in her house that she wasn't to be disturbed when she was working in her lab. Of course, leave it to the arrogant “prince of all Saiyans” to be unaware, or simply not care.

It had been two weeks since the incident in the bathroom, with Vegeta's panic attack, and in typical fashion, he'd disappeared. And as was becoming typical fashion for her, she'd worried about him. She still had no idea really where he went, when he left like that, no idea what he was doing.

Everyone else had already begun their training for when these supposed androids came, three years from now. That was if that boy was to be believed, of course. Something about him though had made Bulma feel she could trust him completely. She wasn't sure what it was. Just something in him. In the way he looked at her...

Vegeta, she imagined, must have been training too, but who really knew, with him.

Looking him over, he appears freshly washed and groomed, hair neat, clean shaven and put together. Handsome, she thinks again. She wants to ask if he's alright, but that would probably just offend him.

It would be funny, she thinks, if it weren't obvious to her just what a mess he really is. 

He's still staring at her computer screen, as if he might actually understand what he's looking at.

Bulma doubts that. Vegeta may be smart, but she didn't know anyone else who could keep up with her work, other than her father of course.

“Hey,” She says, trying to draw his attention to her, and finally his eyes slide away from the screen and he looks at her. “what's up your majesty?”

She grins as he scowls at her, before he turns abruptly away, his back to her now, and instantly she feels bad. She shouldn't take jabs at him like that, she supposes. He made an easy target, though, and that always managed to bring out her more mischievous tendencies. She never meant anything malicious by it. She just liked to tease people. But Vegeta was painfully sensitive. She could see things like that actually hurt his feelings, even if he would deny having feelings of any kind at all.

She sighs, turning back to her screen and jabbing a few more lines of code in, her frustration starting to get the better of her. She couldn't think straight now. She'd been trying to work this problem with the space ship's field generators out for hours, and she didn't feel like she was getting any closer to making it work properly.

“Grrr!” She finally growls, smashing her fist down on the keyboard. “Fuck this shit!”

She leans forward, putting her elbows on the desk and holding her head in her hands.

Maybe she needs a break.

“Why are you so upset?” Vegeta's soft voice filters through to her. So he was still there. That was good, she guesses.

She waves a hand back at him, keeping her face cradled in the other.

“Ah, just work crap. You wouldn't get it anyway, so don't worry about it.”

She hears him shift, turning back around and stepping closer and finally she looks up at him again, seeing he's once more staring at her computer screen.

It's kind of cute, she thinks, the way he's trying so hard to impress her by acting like he actually gets it.

“Try reversing the influx of the polarity output. That should fix it.” He says suddenly, his eyes still on the screen.

Bulma starts, staring at him in shock.

Wait, what?

She blinks, her mind struggling to catch up.

“... Did you just...?” She finally manages to stammer out, disbelieving.

“You're having difficulty with the ship's field generators, yes?” He says, and she realizes, as she watches his eyes, that he isn't just mindlessly letting them fall over the code on her screen, he's actually reading it. “It looks like a debugging issue. Reverse the influx of the polarity, that will fix it.”

Bulma watches him for long seconds more, stunned still, almost mesmerized, until he seems to realize she's staring at him, and he looks down at her, his own expression turning confused and self-conscious.

“What?” He asks as she keeps looking at him.

She blinks, coming out of her daze.

“... You understand that?” She at last asks, nodding towards the screen.

Vegeta frowns, seeming puzzled by the question.

“... Yes.” He answers after a moment. “Why?”

“Well, it's just...” Bulma struggles to explain. “Most people I show this stuff to can't make heads of tails of it...”

“Heads or tails?” Vegeta questions, plainly not understanding the expression. Bulma nearly laughs at the irony there, that he can apparently understand complex engineering and computer coding, but a simple turn of phrase throws him for a loop.

“It's just an expression that means most people who see this kind of thing don't understand it.” She elaborates.

Vegeta's brow furrows, and he looks away from her, crossing his arms over his chest again.

“... I've fixed a lot of ships in my life. I was almost solely responsible for our units pod maintenance...”

His voice trails off, and he falls silent, looking to the floor.

Bulma studies him a moment longer, before turning back to her computer and inputting the necessary code for his suggestion.

It runs the command for only a minute before the readout starts to indicate the field generators are again fully operational and in perfect working order.

Bulma sits for a moment, vaguely stunned.

“Well, shows me not to make assumptions about people.” She laughs nervously.

She'd underestimated Vegeta's intelligence, clearly. She'd known he was smart. She did. She obviously just hadn't realized how smart.

Something about that realization is both enthralling and terrifying.

In her usual self-certainty, she'd begun to believe she'd had him pegged. That she knew everything about him.

It was moments like these which reminded her that she really didn't know him at all. Reminded her how unfair it was to think she had him all figured out.

He was too complex a person for that easy a read.

“It worked.” She says, still staring at the screen. “Thank you.”

She glances at him and he shrugs, keeping his eyes trained on the floor.

“Well you're certainly smarter than Goku.” She half-heartedly jokes, and thinks maybe she shouldn't have when she sees him stiffen slightly. “... But I kinda already knew that...” She finishes and he gives a dismissive grunt in response.

Silence falls between them then, though, Bulma notes, at least for her, it isn't nearly as awkward as it might once have been. She's grown actually comfortable around Vegeta, and some part of her, she realizes, hopes he's grown comfortable with her.

Though given the way he continues to stand off, aloof and arms wrapped round himself, she wonders if he's ever going to be comfortable around anyone. It's almost like an intense shyness that he has. Only the shyness is intimidating and scary.

“Hey, listen, I was going to...” she starts, when abruptly his voice cuts her off.

“Do you wish to have intercourse with me?” 

Bulma starts, freezes, stares. Blinks, shakes her head.

Did she just hear that right?

“I'm sorry?” She manages after a long moment, her voice oddly calm.

Vegeta still isn't looking at her, and from where she's sitting, she can see an obvious blush begin to spread across his cheeks, and she knows she hadn't misheard him then. 

Wow, okay. That was unexpected, to say the least.

“I asked if you wish to have intercourse with me.” He repeats, his voice wavering just barely, and Bulma realizes he's incredibly nervous.

Her heart does an odd flip at the notion of it.

She liked Vegeta, that much she couldn't deny to herself. She thought he was good looking, thought he was fascinating, clearly intelligent, that truth just now reaffirmed for her. She wouldn't lie to herself either anymore about being curious towards him. She'd seen him with his shirt off too many times not to wonder what his body felt like, not to wonder what it would be like to have sex with him. He was like a tiny stallion or something, all corded muscle and no fat, wrapped into this slim little frame. 

It hadn't helped matters knowing he was a virgin. The idea of being the one to pop his cherry excited her, she couldn't deny.

Unless he was lying to her about that, and she didn't think he was. First of all, she'd never known any guy who wanted any woman to think he was a virgin, and secondly, Vegeta, she'd come to realize, didn't really ever lie about anything. It was weird. He was painfully honest, and she supposes that's part of what made him so unpopular among her friends. He either didn't seem to care or just didn't seem to understand social pleasantries. Didn't engage in small talk, didn't bother with courtesies, didn't concern himself with sparing anyone's feelings. He just said what he thought, about others and about himself. In a strange way, it was sad. Being able to lie was a tool of survival. Everyone did it, every day, if for nothing else than to make their lives easier and more simple. Vegeta didn't seem to have that small but vital ability. It made him, in an odd way, terribly vulnerable. 

Well, what he'd just said was sort of the perfect example.

He had zero game. It was awful, and Bulma thinks it's no wonder, then, that he's never had sex, if that's the way he approached girls about it.

Any guy would normally at least try to transition into it, try to talk or charm his way into getting into a girls pants.

Vegeta just blurted it out and then looked mortified about it, if the way he was standing so stiffly and with how red his face suddenly was was any indication.

It must have been several seconds without Bulma saying anything, as Vegeta glances over his shoulder at her, and she sees some expression pass over his features too quickly for her to read before he turns abruptly and begins to stride fast towards the exit.

Panic grasps Bulma's heart as she realizes he thinks she's rejecting him, and she cries out his name.

“Vegeta, wait!” She finally forces her brain into action. “Don't go! What's wrong?!”

“If you don't wish to have intercourse, you should just say so, instead of whatever this game is you're playing.” He snarls, continuing towards the exit. He sounds actually hurt, and Bulma jumps up from her seat, running after him.

She catches up and reaches out without thinking, grabbing hold of his arm.

It's a mistake, as he wrenches his limb free, turning on her with a look of vicious disgust.

Bulma throws her hands up.

“Hey,” she says, shaking her head. “just calm down, alright? I didn't say anything. I didn't say I don't want to have sex with you. It was just a little sudden, that's all. You took me by surprise.”

Vegeta glares at her with mistrustful eyes, plainly disbelieving, and Bulma can't quite help the smile which tugs at her lips. He's cute, she thinks.

“Look, it's just that's not usually how guys talk to girls they like. There's usually some build up. You know, you take me out on a few dates first or something.”

Vegeta's eyes turn confused.

“What is a date?” 

Oh boy...

“It's, you know, you would take me out to dinner, or a movie, or somewhere fun, and we would get to know each other a little better.” She answers. She couldn't quite believe she was having this conversation.

“Why?” He asks, and he isn't being funny, Bulma realizes. 

“Because that's just the way things are done.” She replies evenly.

Vegeta looks only more confused, and he turns his face away, fidgeting with his hands a moment. It's a nervous habit of his, she's noticed, the way he tugs and squeezes at his own fingers. 

“And then you'll wish to have intercourse with me?” He finally asks after a moment.

Bulma has to force herself not to laugh. He's like a little boy.

“Maybe.” She says. “But that's something we should worry about later. And stop calling it intercourse. That makes it sound so clinical.”

Vegeta clearly doesn't understand as he blinks at her.

“But that's what it is.” He says after a moment, and Bulma just sighs, rolling her eyes skyward.

“Just... let's think about going on a date first. How about dinner and a movie tonight?” She suggests, and she feels an unexpected excitement at the prospect of going out with him.

“Why do we need to go out to eat dinner?” He asks. “You have ample enough storage in your kitchen.”

“Oh my God!” Bulma exclaims. “Just do what I tell you, okay?! Be ready at seven tonight. I'll meet you in lounge and we'll go out. And don't dress in your training clothes. Try to wear one of the nice outfits my mother bought for you. Alright? Now go, I have more work to do.”

She shoves him out the lab door, and he leaves without protest.

Bulma waits until the door slide shuts before turning and leaning her back against it.

“What am I doing?” She asks no one in particular.

It's only a moment later when she realizes she can't stop smiling.

//

Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea, Bulma thinks as she washes her hands in the bathroom sink.

It seemed to her like Vegeta was barely holding it together out in this public setting. She'd clearly underestimated just how difficult it would be for him, to be around... people.

She'd taken them to a restaurant first, after yelling at him for showing up in the lounge dressed in the same tank top and sweats he'd been wearing earlier. She'd gotten him to change into a dress shirt and slacks, though he'd complained bitterly the whole time about it, saying the clothes felt stiff and restricting, and she'd had to explain to him that the restaurant they were going to had a dress code, that he couldn't eat there unless he was dressed appropriately, and he'd argued that they shouldn't eat at all at a place with “ridiculous standards” like that, as he'd put it.

That should have been her first clue that the evening wasn't going to go well.

When they'd gotten to the restaurant and sat down to order their food, Vegeta had seemed paranoid and uncomfortable, constantly looking around at the people like he expected someone to attack him, acting hostile and rude towards their waiter, and when it had come to ordering, he clearly hadn't understood what anything on the menu was, but had been too embarrassed by the fact to admit it. When Bulma had offered to order for him, he'd gotten defensive and told her snappishly that he didn't need some woman telling him what to eat, and then proceeded to point to half a dozen random dishes when the waiter asked what he wanted, ordering an obscene amount of food and not seeming to understand that he'd just cost her an insane amount of money.

That was all before the food had even come out, and Bulma still feels her stomach churn with mortification at the way the other patrons had stared at them as Vegeta had polished off one dish after another, barely stopping between bites, it seemed, to take a breath.

The other people had probably been wondering how such a tiny little guy could eat so much and not get fat. It wasn't like Bulma could explain to them that her “date” wasn't actually human, that he was a Saiyan, and Saiyans apparently had the same metabolism as a mongoose.

But Bulma wasn't the sort to quit or admit defeat. She'd bought them tickets to see a movie at the theater afterward, and so that was where they were now.

Besides that, she didn't want Vegeta to suspect she was regretting taking him out in public. She didn't want to hurt his feelings. He'd been through enough shit lately.

Their show was going to start in about ten minutes, and Bulma had asked him to wait in the lobby for her while she ran to the bathroom. He'd mumbled out an agreement, crossing his arms over his chest and looking distinctly uncomfortable, but she figured he would be alright on his own for a couple minutes.

That had obviously been a mistake, she realizes, as she steps out of the restroom, and immediately notices the crowd of rowdy teenagers gathered in a circle, laughing and jeering, harassing somebody. She doesn't need to see him to know it's Vegeta, and instantly a terrified panic swallows her whole.

She sprints towards the group, her heart hammering sickeningly in her chest. Oh gods, if she doesn't get there in time...

“What's the matter shrimp?” She hears one of the idiot teenagers laugh. There's four of them, that overgrown variety of kid you saw frequently these days, all of them over six feet tall. “Hoping Mommy'll come rescue ya?”

“Look at him, I think he's about to pee his pants!” Another jeers. “Aww, don't cry little fella, I'm sure your Mommy'll be along real soon.”

“What's up with your hair? That's, like, the lamest hair I've ever seen.”

“What's it gonna be little bitch?” Another starts, the tallest of the group, and there's no playful amusement in his voice. He's angry. “You gonna apologize for bumping into me, or am I gonna have to beat it outta ya?”

For fucks sake, Bulma thinks, beginning to push her way through the gathering onlookers. These morons are going to get the entire planet blown up.

“Well, what's it gonna beACK!”

The tallest boy's voice cuts off in a strangled gasp, and Bulma knows she's already too late when everyone starts screaming.

No, she thinks despairingly as she shoves violently past the people left in front of her, most of them stumbling back and away in obvious fear.

It briefly flashes through Bulma's mind that maybe she isn't making the best life choices, that while everyone else is running away, she's running towards what it is they're running from.

And it's pretty damn obvious what they're running from as she at last makes it to the center of the commotion, and she sees Vegeta standing there, the boy who had been taunting him on his knees before him, his wrist caught in the Saiyan's thick, powerful hand.

The teenager is moaning in pain, his face contorted and tears streaming fast down his red face, his friends all stumbled backward, too afraid to move, to at all try and intervene. 

There's nothing any of them could do anyway, Bulma thinks. And she realizes she's having a hell of a hard time sympathizing with any of them, even the boy caught in Vegeta's grasp.

She doesn't believe for a second that Vegeta was the one who bumped into the little shit. She'd seen enough guys in her life to know the ones that made it their duty to act like assholes, and these were them.

Vegeta, for as standoffish and rude and dangerous as he could be, wasn't that sort at all. He would break your neck in an instant, Bulma knew that, but he would do it without saying a word, and he didn't go around picking on people smaller and weaker than him. That was what these boys had been doing, Bulma knew it in an instant.

They'd seen Vegeta standing there, arms crossed over his chest and looking surely no doubt, seen a tiny little guy who looked like he was ready for a fight, and figured him for an easy target. Their mistake, and they were just starting to realize that.

But Bulma also knew she had to do something before things got really out of hand. If Vegeta killed the boy, then that was going to be bad, to say the least. She doesn't know what would happen then, though the prospect of losing Vegeta scares her to her core, she realizes.

“Stop,” she calls, rushing forward, hand outreached. “Vegeta, stop, let him go.”

“Excruciating, isn't it?” Vegeta says to the boy, and he does something with the kid's wrist which causes the boy to scream loudly, the crowd gasping in horror.

“Vegeta!” Bulma yells his name, and she doesn't think as she reaches him, shooting her hand out, wrapping it around his forearm.

It's like wrapping her hand around a rod of iron, as unyielding, as unforgiving.

He keeps his eyes on the boy, who's beginning to sag, his forehead nearly touching the floor as he hangs limply from Vegeta's grip, groaning softly.

“Vegeta,” Bulma says his name again, squeezing her own hand down. She couldn't hurt him no matter how hard she squeezed, she knows. She's trying to get his attention. “Let him go. Please. Please Vegeta, he isn't worth it.”

Finally he pulls his gaze from the boy, looking over to her, his eyes, for a moment, distant, like he isn't really seeing her at all, before abruptly they come back into focus.

“Please Vegeta.” She pleads again, giving his arm another squeeze. “Let's just... let's just go. Let's get out of here.”

The relief she feels when he actually lets go his hold on the boys wrist is immense. 

The kid crumples to his side then, whimpering weakly, and Bulma grabs Vegeta by the elbow, beginning to pull him away.

The other teenagers rush in towards their friend,. Idiotically, seeing Bulma defuse the situation seems to have regained them their lost courage, and they start to spit insults and threats at Vegeta as Bulma tries to guide him away.

“Fuckin' freak!” One of them shouts.

“I'm gonna kick that midget ass of yours!” Yells another.

“Goddamn fuckin' animal!” 

Bulma feels Vegeta tense in her grip, like he's about to tear away from her and go after the idiots again, and she tightens her hold, leaning in close to him and speaking softly into his ear.

“Don't listen to them.” She says. “Please Vegeta, I just want to go. They aren't worth it, believe me.”

He's wound so tight she can feel him shaking, and she begs him again, tugging on his arm, towards the exit.

It's a miracle, she thinks, that he lets her, allowing her to drag him out the theater exit, onto the street.

He's agitated though, finally shaking loose from her hold and beginning to stride down the sidewalk at a pace which seemed impossible for his short legs.

Bulma has to run to catch up with him.

“Vegeta, wait.” She says, reaching out again for his wrist.

“Don't!” He snarls, snatching his arm away before she can touch him.

Bulma pulls back, feeling slightly stung by the rebuke.

He keeps walking, and she hesitates a moment before going after him.

“Vegeta I'm sorry...” she gasps as she catches up with him. “I shouldn't have left you alone out there...”

“What you shouldn't have done was drag me out on this ridiculous excursion!” He snaps, not in the least slowing his pace, forcing Bulma to break into a jog every few seconds just to keep up. “I'm not interested in whatever sick game you're playing! I won't be a toy for you to manipulate! I won't...”

Bulma stops, horrified and taken aback.

“What?!” She half-shouts, not understanding, but already feeling offended.

He stops too, spinning to face her.

“You know exactly what I'm talking about. You... I know your sort. You get some kind of... of twisted pleasure from toying with someone you think is too dumb to see it. Well I may not be as smart as you... maybe I'm just a... a dumb fucking animal, but I know enough to know when I'm being messed with, and I won't be your perfect little pet monkey! You better get that straight, or I'll...”

“Vegeta, for god's sake!” Bulma cuts him off, feeling herself begin to shake with adrenaline, fear and anger. “What the hell are you talking about?! I wasn't...” she shakes her head, feeling her temper spike. “I wasn't trying to mess with you, or... or make fun of you or whatever you think is going on. I had nothing to do with what happened back there! I was trying...”

“You're embarrassed by me.” He cuts her off now, and suddenly he's striding towards her, until his face is only inches from her own. “You force me out here with some vague, half meant promise just so you could see me make a fool of myself, knowing already what I'm like, knowing what I am, and yet you still manage to feel ashamed of me. Don't try to claim otherwise. It's in your eyes. Well wonderfully done then. You managed to fool me. I actually let myself think that maybe you... m-maybe you wanted to... that you meant...”

He starts to stammer, his face flushing slightly, and abruptly Bulma feels her own anger dissipate into nothing, her heart instead sinking into the pit of her stomach.

Oh God, she never meant for...

“Vegeta,” she says, her voice soft, pained. She reaches out without thinking, cupping her palm against his cheek.

He flinches back from her like he's been burned, stumbling away almost in fear. Bulma's eyes sting, and she feels suddenly like she can't get a full breath.

The awful part was that he was right.

She had known what he was like. Had known, in all reality, how a public excursion with him would likely go. He wasn't a people person, to say the least. Didn't react well to being crowded in, to social settings, to having to talk or interact. She'd known that, and yet she'd still been somehow mortified at his behavior, and at the reactions of the people around them. Had been self-conscious and embarrassed at the idea of people seeing her with him, concluding they were together...

Why had she forced him out with her like this, if she had known deep down how it would go all along?

She couldn't have really meant to humiliate him, could she? Bulma didn't think she was a malicious person. But then... She hadn't known if she meant what she'd said to him, about having sex with him if they went out on a date. The notion had been something to think about later, something to worry about when the time came, and something she could easily avoid if it came down to that, if she decided she didn't want it. And she'd been sure in her ability to do so because... because she'd assumed Vegeta's ignorance. He wasn't worldly enough, wasn't experienced enough, wasn't smart enough to see what she was really doing. He would believe her, whatever excuse she fed him, so there was nothing to worry about.

Obviously, the ignorant one had been her.

She was devastated.

“... I'm sorry.” She breathes, not knowing what else to say suddenly. “Vegeta, I'm sorry. I didn't... I didn't mean to hurt you, I...”

“Can we go back to your home?” He asks suddenly, and for an instant, Bulma's brain freezes. She stares at him, and he stares back, as though waiting for an answer.

“... You want to...” she finally manages, and he looks away from her, crossing his arms over his chest. “S-sure, yes, of course.” She forces herself to say, trying to overcome the shock of his simply not running away. She'd expected him to, she realizes. Expected him to take off flying and leave her out on the street by herself.

He doesn't say anything else as she retrieves her capsule car from her bag, tossing it to the ground.

The ride back to Capsule Corp is similarly silent, Bulma's weak attempts at conversation going unacknowledged from his end.

When they arrive at her home, she doesn't even try to stop him as he silently makes his way up the stairs, to his small room on the second floor.

She waits there at the landing then, guilt churning heavy in her stomach, and listens as he closes the door to his room softly.

There isn't any other sound after that, but Bulma stands there for a long time still, hoping vaguely for something.

For what, only, she doesn't at all know.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, first of all, thank you so much for all of the feedback and support you guys have been giving me. It's really inspired me to keep writing and given me so many new ideas! So I can't thank you enough. Also, a note of warning for this chapter containing noncon and sexual assault/molestation. It's all in the flashback, which is separated by the dashes. 
> 
> Anyway, here we go! Please let me know your thoughts again if you have a chance.

Vegeta remembers with sickening clarity his last encounter with Frieza before the battle on Namek.

It had been the last of what he had been able to take, finally. The last. Been what after more than twenty five years had given him the courage.

There had been no turning back after that. 

He had set off with Raditz and Nappa for their assigned mission, already certain that it would be, in the least for him, the last. There would be no more servitude, no more returning to base for report. Whether it meant his death or no, it mattered nothing anymore. Death would be preferred over submitting himself any longer to the perverseness of that monster.

And he remembers with sickening clarity, even as he wishes more than anything to banish the horror from his head.

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

He stands frozen as Frieza circles round him, his eyes trained fixedly, dutifully to the floor, waiting, dreading...

He thinks he should be used to this by now. Shouldn't care so much, shouldn't worry.

What else could Frieza do to him? What more now?

But Vegeta knows the question to be without merit.

Frieza always managed to find something new. Some fresh hell to put him through.

The instinct to recoil as he feels the tyrant's hand come down on his shoulder is almost too much to repress, and Vegeta stiffens viciously to keep himself still. One wrong move, he knows, could easily mean his life.

Living in fear. That had been his state of being for very nearly three decades.

He closes his eyes, his teeth grinding painfully together as he feels Frieza's ice cold hand crawl up the nape of his neck, slipping around to grasp loosely at his throat. He can't control it as his tail frizzes round his waist, the slight tremor through his frame.

He doesn't know what he's done wrong now. Doesn't know why Frieza has called him here, less than an hour before he and his team were meant to depart off base.

“How old are you now Vegeta?” Frieza says suddenly, his breath against the back of Vegeta's neck, inches away.

Frieza knows how old he is. He knows everything.

“Twenty nine, my Lord.” Vegeta answers dutifully, almost proud of how steady he keeps his voice.

“Twenty nine!” Frieza exclaims, as though surprised. “My, my, how time does fly! I remember when you first came to me as though it were only yesterday. How old were you then? Six, seven?”

“Four, my Lord.” Vegeta answers, his hands fisting at his sides, his nails digging through the material of his gloves into his palms.

“That young!?” Frieza goes on. “My, my, indeed time flies.”

His hand squeezes lightly over Vegeta's throat, almost massaging it, and reflexively Vegeta swallows. He doesn't like this. Doesn't know what Frieza is doing. It's unbearable, standing still like this. He wants to run. Wants to get away from here...

He almost chokes on his own spit when Frieza takes his hand from his shoulder and grasps suddenly around the end of Vegeta's tail, unwinding it from around his waist and pulling it straight.

It takes every ounce of his will not to rip free from the tyrant's hold. He very nearly does.

“It is admirable,” Frieza continues talking, and Vegeta can feel him squeeze down hard on his tail, sending a jolt of pain up into his spine. “how you've overcome this particular weakness. I understand it still pains you, but that you've trained yourself to resist it's debilitating effects.”

Vegeta swallows, giving a stiff nod.

“Yes, my Lord.” He answers weakly.

“Hmm,” Frieza hums, giving his tail another, harder squeeze. “Admirable.” He repeats. “I wonder though...” he continues after a moment. “your ignorance has always provided me a great source of amusement Vegeta.”

Vegeta feels his heart kick harder, and he forces himself to remain still.

“You've never experienced sexual pleasure, have you?” Frieza asks suddenly, and Vegeta nearly splutters at the unexpected question, his breath catching in his throat as a new kind of dread washes over him.

“... M-my Lord?” He stammers out after a moment.

“Oh, there's no use in being coy Vegeta.” Frieza goes on, voice laced in amusement. “You've never even masturbated yourself, have you?”

Vegeta feels like he can't breathe, his head swimming in embarrassment and confusion. He doesn't understand. Doesn't understand how Frieza would even know something like that. Doesn't understand why he would care...

“I know, you're asking yourself how I could possibly know something like that.” Frieza laughs, predicting Vegeta's thoughts easily. “You didn't think you had actually earned privacy under my rule, did you? Oh ho, silly monkey. Your rooms have always been fitted with surveillance cameras, hidden of course in the walls. They've been there since you were a child. And of course, one can never fully trust an animal. I've always had spies on you, whenever you've been off base, following your every move. Which brings me back to my original observation. 

Well, it's most odd. I, of course, being of a superior race of beings, have myself no sexual desire. Most natural, of course, seeing as we have no sexual organs. But you, well, please don't try to claim for yourself that same evolved state, boy. I've observed you making a mess of your sheets enough times to know that's not true.” 

Frieza laughs, and Vegeta feels his face burn with shame.

“And yet you've refrained from any activity which might sate your obvious sexual needs. Most unusual, when those two savages you live with take to pleasuring themselves at least once every day. Usually more.”

Vegeta feels his face heat further, his head bowing down.

He knew that about Nappa and Raditz. Vaguely. He'd always tried to ignore it. It wasn't any of his business what they did in their private time.

“But then, I suppose I shouldn't be so surprised.” Frieza continues, his hand running up and down Vegeta's tail in an almost soothing manner now, and somehow that only serves to put the Saiyan more on edge. “You've always been so uptight Vegeta. Wound tighter than a coiled spring. I wonder frankly that you haven't yet self-combusted, with how anxious you always are.”

Again he laughs, his hand running up the length of Vegeta's tail, stopping near the base.

“But back to my initial commentary. Your ignorance, Vegeta. That's what astounds me, truly. A prince with no real education. Of course, you know all there is to know about fighting. About combat and killing. You've always been my perfect little murder machine. But when it comes to the voyeuristic elements of life, well, you seem utterly baffled, don't you? For instance, you've always been well aware of how this tail of yours could be both a strength and a weakness. It's why you trained yourself so vigorously to rid yourself of the vulnerability, isn't it? But let me ask. Did you know that while your tail holds pain receptors, it also holds in equal measure receptors for pleasure?”

For a moment, Vegeta's mind blanks out. He doesn't understand the question. What was the tyrant talking about?

And then he feels Frieza's hand travel the rest of the length to the base of his tail, grasping it between his thumb and forefinger, squeezing down firmly.

Vegeta's jaw loosens, his mouth falling open as a jolt of deep warmth shoots abruptly through the pit of his stomach, radiating down into his groin.

For an instant his breath leaves him.

What was that? He's never felt...

Again, Frieza squeezes down on the same point, another warm jolt washing through the Saiyan, more intense this time, and he just barely manages to swallow down the gasp which sticks in his throat.

What was happening? What was Frieza doing to him? He wants to pull away, wants to shove the bastard off of him. His heart kicks sickeningly in his chest, fear beginning to overwhelm his brain.

“Feels good, doesn't it?” Frieza chuckles, and he's leaning closer, his breath suddenly hot against Vegeta's ear, voice speaking soft and low into it. He squeezes his tail again, firmer, more insistent, and Vegeta feels his knees abruptly weaken, panic constricting his heart as he realizes, at last, that what he's feeling is pleasure.

No, he thinks frenziedly. No, no, this wasn't... this wasn't happening. Couldn't be happening.

Only the reality clamps down like a vice choking his throat as he feels Frieza's other hand come round his front, cupping roughly over his crotch, palming and rubbing at him through the material of his battle suit, even as he continues squeezing and tugging on his tail, and it's too much, too much. Sensations unlike anything Vegeta has ever felt, his head spinning with them, pleasure like heaven spreading from the base of his tail into the pit of his stomach, down into his penis, and he barely manages to choke down the thick groan which tries to push up past his teeth.

This wasn't happening, gods, please, this wasn't...

“D-dd-don't...” he stammers out, his voice shaking audibly.

Frieza only laughs softly in response, increasing the pace and pressure.

“F-Frieza, d-don't... pp-please...” Vegeta begs again, and he can feel something warm and wet beginning to press against his thigh, and panic overwhelms him then, overcomes his fear.

He lunges forward, ripping out of Frieza's grasp, spinning to face the tyrant with wide, horrified eyes.

“Don't!” He cries again, his voice sounding high and reedy to his own ears. “Don't t-touch me!”

For an instant, he sees pure rage flash across Frieza's face, before the expression smooths away into neutrality.

“Why?” He asks calmly, smiling cruelly. “You seemed to have been enjoying yourself, if the front of your pants is any indicator.” He nods towards Vegeta's lower half, and the Saiyan glances down at himself, mortification seizing him as he sees the dark stain spreading out over the crotch of his suit, down his inner thigh.

Frieza laughs.

“Come now Vegeta, I'm only trying to help you experience what you've been denying yourself all these years. Don't be such a prude.”

Vegeta's eyes snap back up to the tyrant, rage and hate making his vision go momentarily red.

“Don't... d-don't come near me! D-don't touch me!” He shouts, forgetting in that moment why he should be afraid, why never to defy his Lord.

He's reminded quickly.

The smile vanishes from Frieza's lips, replaced by naked disgust.

“You'll do as I tell you, monkey!” He screams back, Vegeta flinching violently at the unexpected volume. 

Frieza steps forward a single stride, and it takes everything in Vegeta not to step back.

“Now,” Frieza goes on, having clearly seen the rediscovered fear on the Saiyan's face. “pull your pants down to your ankles and resume your position with your back to me.”

Vegeta stiffens in fresh terror, hesitating.

He can't. He can't do this. He can't, can't...

“Nnn-no...” he stutters, not believing his own ears.

“What?” Frieza asks, taking another step closer, his red eyes glowing dangerously.

Vegeta's will breaks, fear consuming him.

“Please, p-please mm... my Lord, please d-don't... don't do this to me...” he begins to beg desperately, his pride crumbling in despair. “please...”

Frieza raises a finger, a pinprick of white hot ki forming at its tip.

“You'll do as I tell you, you dumb fucking brute.” He says quietly. “And you'll do it now, before I decide you've finally outlived your usefulness to me. Is that understood? Or are you really that incredibly stupid?!”

Frieza steps forward again, closing the distance between them and reaching out, pressing his finger to the Saiyan's chest.

Burning agony rips through Vegeta's skin, melting through the body armor like it's nothing, scorching and blistering the skin beneath, and Vegeta knows in an instant that Frieza won't hesitate to blow a hole straight through his heart. Knows already in that moment that he's lost.

Tears sting at the backs of his eyes, and he tries to force them away, clamping his lids shut and nodding weakly.

“You understand?” Frieza presses. “Say it.”

“... I... I un... understand.” Vegeta stumbles, voice cracking and wavering.

“Good. Now get your pants down and give me your back.”

It's horror.

Horror, horror as Vegeta forces his fingers into the waistband of his pants, horror as he pushes them down, past his thighs, past his knees, pushes them down to his ankles. Horror as he turns, giving his back.

Horror as he feels Frieza come up against him, feels his cold, awful hands on him like before, only worse, worse for how he's naked there, nothing to protect him from small, freezing hands pulling and tugging and rubbing.

Humiliation worse than anything... anything he's ever felt before as those hands begin to feel good, so good, working and rubbing, and Vegeta tries so hard not to make a sound, to swallow down his own, treacherous voice. Only he can't as pleasure better than anything he's ever felt builds to an impossible point and his mouth falls open, a traitorous moan slipping off his tongue, into the open air. And he can't hold back his tears any more. Not anymore. They shove past his clamped lids, fat, hot drops streaming down his flushed cheeks, and his legs begin to shake, growing weaker and weaker.

“Almost there, monkey.” Frieza's voice in his ear, chuckling. “Almost there.”

Vegeta can't... Can't think. Can't control it. Can't control anything. His hips buck forward into Frieza's hold, another, panting groan pushing past his teeth. Frieza's hands squeeze, fingers pinching his tail, wrapping round his penis, rubbing, pulling. A cold thumb presses over the head, nail digging in deep, and suddenly the hand round his tail is gone, coming up, fingers shoving their way past his lips, into his mouth, down into his throat.

Vegeta gags, bile churning, surging up his throat even as a wave of dizzying, overwhelming pleasure shoots through him, too much, too much. His legs buckle and crumple beneath him, and he falls to his knees as he ejaculates, followed in an instant by the surge of his own watery vomit, out onto the floor, mixing up with his sticky, white hot semen.

Frieza lets him go, stepping away, and Vegeta falls forward, face burying against his arms.

Starts sobbing, can't help it. Can't help it.

Frieza makes a sound of disgust, his footfall padding softly round the floor.

“Sickening.” He says, more to himself, standing in front of Vegeta now, and vicious shame keeps Vegeta from lifting his face to see him.

Frieza obliges for him, hand fisting abruptly into Vegeta's sweaty hair, forcing his face up from his arms, craning his neck until he's made to look up into his masters face.

Frieza sneers down at him, disdainful.

“You know,” he starts, voice saccharine sweet. “I threatened your father once with the same thing. Only, dumb monkey that he was, he refused. Can you believe? Even when I threatened his life just the same as I did yours. He wouldn't let me touch him. Foolish. Very foolish. Hmm. Well, I suppose that's the difference between you and him though, yes? That's why you make so much better my perfect little pet monkey. So much more obedient. So much more willing to do anything to please your master. Oh, I'm glad I acquired you Vegeta. You provide me so much fun! Every bit worth the hassle of it all.”

Vegeta trembles, can't stop shaking, can't stop crying. Can't. His father, no... no, his father wouldn't, didn't... And he was too weak, to weak to refuse, too scared... too scared. He didn't want to die. And his father, his father would be...

It's like suffocating, this shame. Like drowning. He can't get out from under it. Won't ever be able to get out from under it again. Won't. His father would hate him. Hate him, hate him. 

Oh, gods in heaven, he hates himself.

Frieza shoves him away, over onto his back.

“Now clean up your filth and get out of my sight.” He says, his eyes moving over Vegeta's half naked form. “I don't want to see you back here until you've acquired Tarback for me. And you had better get the job done in the allocated time, or I swear I'll end your miserable little life in the most painful way possible.”

Vegeta sits frozen a moment, his body refusing command, until Frieza snarls at him, snapping him from his paralysis. He scrambles forward, dragging his tangled pants back up, trying uselessly to ignore the sticky warmth clinging to his legs, wiping at his eyes.

He stares at the puddle white and brown liquid at his feet, helpless a moment, confused.

“Oh, for heavens sake, use your shirt, you dumb animal!” Frieza barks at him, and Vegeta starts, pulling off his armor with shaking hands, his shirt following. He uses it to mop up his own come and puke, unable to look at his Lord.

His mind is raging, swirling in dizzying circles of emotion. Sham and humiliation, so powerful he thinks he might die from it. Anger and pain and hate. Hate, hate, hate! Hate for everything. For everyone. He hates so much. So, so, so much. Wants to kill. Wants to destroy. Wants to destroy the whole fucking universe.

The whole fucking universe. 

Wants to destroy them all.

Them all.

Wants them all to die.

Wants to die.

Wants to die so much.

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

It was his fault Raditz was dead. 

He'd sent him off to this shit hole of a planet. Sent him here to find Kakarott. To bring him back with him so they could rebel against Frieza. 

That had been the plan.

Like everything else in Vegeta's life, it had gone completely wrong.

Stupid, in retrospect. Discovering on Namek just how powerful Frieza truly was, all four of them together could have done nothing. Would have been annihilated on the spot had they actually tried.

However powerful Kakarott came back after their own battle, it wouldn't have been so had he gone with Raditz that first time. And Raditz would still be alive if... and Nappa too, probably. 

He'd killed them.

His only two companions.

Killed them.

And now Frieza was dead, and he had no one.

He sometimes didn't know which was worse, this useless, directionless nothing he lived now, or living under Frieza's tyranny, a tool at least, good for something.

He would rather be dead though, then go back to that. Would rather be dead a hundred times over than ever have Frieza lay hands on him again.

He only wishes he'd been so brave when it mattered. When it counted.

It was shame that lived with him now. His only companion left.

Stupid. He'd been so stupid, propositioning the woman like he had.

What would a woman like that ever want to do with a thing like him anyway? He should have known. Should have listened to his reason, instead of letting his pathetic desperation drive him forward to more humiliation.

Of course she'd been lying. Of course. She'd probably only pretended to consider his question because she'd been afraid. He was an unpredictable monster, after all. Didn't want him blowing the planet up, after all.

He was disgusting.

He supposes he should feel grateful, that she spoke to him like an intelligent being. That she spoke to him at all. Expecting anything more was pure folly. 

Oh, he'd been so stupid! The way she'd looked at him when they'd been eating. There'd been so much shame in her eyes, so much humiliation. A fucking embarrassment. That's what he was to her.

If she knew... if she knew those things about him, those memories which drowned him, she would be so much more ashamed. Would tell him to go. Go away and never come back.

She was beautiful.

Beautiful and so smart. He felt stupid around her. Like he couldn't keep up. She always said such smart things. And she knew so much. About the way things worked. Knew how to talk to people. Knew about the world, and things like intercourse and food and reading. 

He doesn't know any of that. Hasn't ever seen a woman naked except watching them get stripped down and processed. Scared so bad they shit themselves, piss all down their own legs. That's all he knows.

Hasn't ever read anything. Hasn't ever read a book. 

Didn't want to tell her. Didn't want to tell her he didn't understand anything at that food place. Didn't want to tell her he didn't know what a movie was. Didn't know what any of it was. Didn't understand what they were doing. Thought they already knew each other. Didn't understand why that wasn't enough.

Didn't want to fight with those dumb fucking bastards at that place. Didn't want to 'cause he didn't want to embarrass her. Tried so hard not to get mad, but they kept pushing and pushing. Accused him of starting it, but he didn't. Didn't do anything. But they'd kept pushing, and he couldn't stop it then. Woulda' killed that dumb fuck if she hadn't been there. If he hadn't seen the fear in her eyes. Didn't want to scare her.

She hates him. Has to hate him, because everyone hates him. He deserves that, he guesses. He's no good.

But he wanted her to like him, maybe just a little, and that was fucking stupid. How was she supposed to?

Fucking stupid. She should have just told him. Stupid lying bitch, should have just told him so. Why did she have to make a fool out of him too? He could have killed her. Could have just crushed her delicate little throat in his hand, killed her good, and she would've deserved it too, for making him look stupid. Fucking bitch.

No, no, she wasn't though. She was beautiful, and she was... she was nice to him. Almost kind.

No one had ever treated him like that before. No one had ever been nice like that. Touched him so softly. Her skin was so soft and smooth. He dreamed about burying his face in her hair, in the space between her shoulder and neck. Dreamed about her arms wrapped around him, and she wasn't afraid. Wasn't afraid of him. Didn't talk to him like he was an animal. Like he was a dumb fucking animal no good for anything but killing.

Why'd she have to make him look so stupid? 

She hated him.

He wants to hate her. Hate her for lying. Pretending like she might have liked him a little. Should have known better. Nobody ever liked him. Not even Nappa or Raditz. Not really. Loyal. They were loyal because he was their prince. That was all.

She looked at him with soft eyes. Kind eyes. Like she might have liked him. But he was just a dumb animal. Couldn't tell when someone was lying or not. Not someone like her. Should have known.

He tears at his hair, eyes stinging. Why is he here? He needs to go. Go away. Somewhere. Anywhere. 

Don't cry, you stupid bastard. Don't cry.

Tears sting, press, threatening. He wanted her to like him so much.

“Vegeta?”

He gasps, choking on the sound as he half swallows it, his body stiffening hard.

He hadn't heard anything. Stupid. So stupid.

“... What?” He snaps, angry. He hates himself. Can't even tell when she's coming now. Pathetic. Weak.

“... Can I talk to you?” She asks. Her voice is timid, soft. Don't trust it. Can't trust it. Lies. Tricks. 

“No.” He snarls, and keeps his back to her.

Wipes at his eyes. Get rid of the tears. Stupid, weak, useless fucker. 

“... Please Vegeta.” She begs, and she sounds so sincere. Like she really means it. Good little liar. Wishes he was half that good. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't...” she pauses, her voice hitching. Crying. She's crying. “I swear to God, I never meant to humiliate you. I never wanted to put you in a position like that. You have to believe me.”

No he doesn't. Doesn't have to believe anyone. Believing only led to stupid shit. Led to bad things.

He keeps his back to her, doesn't say anything. Too smart. She'd use his words against him.

Hears her move farther into the room, hears her sit on the bed. Softest bed her ever slept it. That he can remember. Thinks when he was two, three years old, he might have had a softer bed. Can't remember though.

“Vegeta...” She starts again, careful. “You have every right to be angry with me.” That was new. No one ever said that to him before. “You were right. I promised you something which I wasn't even sure of. Which I thought I could back out of because... because I thought I could use my experience over you to get out of it, if... if I decided I didn't want it. You were right about that.”

Doesn't know what she's doing. Another trick, probably. Another lie. He doesn't answer.

“But I never meant to lie to you, okay? I wasn't lying to you. I really... I really do like you Vegeta. I swear to God. And I wouldn't mind... I mean, I've thought about sleeping with you. I think you're extremely attractive. I only hesitated because... I just broke up with Yamcha not that long ago and I thought...” She hesitates again, and Vegeta almost starts laughing. She doesn't want to say it, but he doesn't mind. He'll do it for her.

“Doesn't look good. Doesn't look good to all your friends who are hero's. Can't disappoint them by fucking a monster.”

Bulma's silence is plenty confirmation.

Vegeta smiles at his reflection in the window. Ugly little monkey. 

“... I don't care what they think.” She says, and that's bullshit. He opens his mouth to tell her so, but she keeps talking before he can. “I did before. You're right. But I don't anymore. Fuck what they think. Vegeta, I like you. I really like you.”

“Don't fuck with me.” He says, and finally he turns to look at her.

Her face is pale, her eyes bloodshot, visible even in the dark of the room.

“... I'm not.” She breathes after a moment. She sounds sad.

“You don't know me.” He replies, scowling. “You don't like me. Don't fuck with me.”

“I'm NOT!” Her voice raises, and suddenly she stands from the bed, coming at him.

It's so sudden he doesn't think, only steps back, his back hitting the sill of the window as she crowds in against him, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt. 

“I'm not fucking with you Vegeta.” She says, her eyes looking right into his, and suddenly she leans forward, pressing her mouth against his.

Doesn't know what that is.

He pulls back, startled, afraid.

“Don't...” he says, and his voice is pathetically weak. Doesn't know what that is. Doesn't know.

She leans back, and he's surprised, looks at him with kind eyes and he wants to look away.

“I won't do anything you don't want me to.” She says quietly. 

She keeps staring at him, and he feels exposed, wants to look away so much.

“You've never even been kissed before, have you?” She says, and he seals his mouth tight, doesn't want to admit it. Doesn't want to ask what a kiss is. Doesn't know. Embarrassed, because he knows enough to know that he should. “It's alright.” She says. “Do you want me to show you?”

Yes, he thinks, but he can't talk. Doesn't move. 

She smiles at him, reaching up and touching his face gently. Soft skin, and he marvels at how flawless it is, how smooth. His own skin is so ugly. Pocked and marked with countless scars from battles and beatings, dry and peeling from too many endless days spent underneath burning suns.

“It's alright.” She says again. “I'm going to kiss you again. Alright?”

He swallows, his mouth suddenly dry as dirt, throat tight. Thinks he nods. Isn't sure.

Guesses he does, because she leans in close and her mouth presses against his again. 

He stands stiff and unmoving, doesn't know what to do. Her mouth is so soft, just like the rest of her. Lips moving against his, gentle and soft. He feels warm, wants to reach out and grab her, only his arms are locked at his sides, hands fists. He squeezes his eyes closed, stinging again. Wishes that would stop.

Something wet suddenly, sliding over his mouth, and he jerks back, startled.

“... No.” He chokes, and she stops, pulling back.

“What... what are you doing?” He asks.

“That's how people kiss.” She says quietly. “They put their mouths together and then they open them and let their tongues slide together.”

Doesn't understand. Makes no sense.

“Why?” He asks, and feels stupid.

“Because it feels good.” She tells him. “I can show you.”

He swallows again, doesn't say anything when she leans back in, puts her mouth on his again. Doesn't stop her when he feels her tongue this time.

“You've gotta open your mouth a little.” She mumbles against him.

He hesitates, tries.

Feels her tongue drag over his teeth, thinks it feels funny. 

“Little more.” She says, and her arms come up around his neck, her body pressing against his, and he feels his face flush, his breath sucking in.

Her tongue pushes past his slightly parted teeth, and he feels it run over his, soft and warm. Good. It feels good, like she promised. Her body against his feels good. She's so soft and delicate. Not like him. Not like his body. Wants to hold her. Can't move though. Can't do anything. She keeps kissing him, moving her mouth a lot, her tongue sliding and probing the inside of his mouth. Her voice, a quiet moan, sound of satisfaction, and he feels something wet slide down his face. 

She'll see, he thinks. Can't let her see. But it's too late. She feels it too, leans back, mouth gone, and he wants her back. Wants her mouth on his again.

She reaches up, fingers touching his face, gentle, kind, wiping tears off his cheeks. Doesn't say anything. Doesn't say he's weak. Pathetic. Doesn't smile. 

“It's alright.” She tells him.

He wants to believe her.

Stupid, he thinks, if he does.


	12. Chapter 12

It takes a long time for Vegeta to try kissing back. 

When at last he does, it's awful. Sloppy, over eager, too hard, clumsy. He's terrible at it.

That's not any surprise, and does nothing to dissuade Bulma. If anything, she finds it endearing. He'd never done this before, and she wants to help him.

“Hey, hey...” she says gently after a few, awkward moments of him pressing forward too hard against her mouth. She puts her hands on his chest, pressing back a little, and he stops, pulling away, and the way he looks at her... God... 

He looks so lost. Confused and embarrassed, even a little frightened. He has no idea what he's doing, the fact plain on his face.

Bulma's never been in this position before. Never been with a guy who... who had less experience than her. Had less experience than most teenagers. 

It's surreal, bizarre. 

She'd seen Vegeta fight. Seen him kill that horrible green skinned man back on Namek. Seen him train. Seen the way he moved.

He was a better fighter than Goku. Better than anyone she'd ever seen.

Not as powerful. He didn't have Goku's power. Or his strength, Bulma doesn't think. How could he, when he was so much smaller? Goku must have outweighed him by nearly twenty pounds, had at least four inches on him in height. Was so much broader. In a one on one fight, she knew Goku would win. Would simply overpower the older, smaller man.

But Bulma swears Vegeta is more talented. His form, his technique and speed. He's so much more graceful than Goku, so much lighter on his feet, attacking and defending with such incredible precision and focus. Even when he was dead tired, as Bulma had seen him numerous times now, pushing himself to the absolute limits of his physical ability, he never lost his form, never let himself grow sloppy or careless. Superbly gifted and trained, superbly knowledgeable in the art of fighting, a prodigy, no doubt, born with an innate ability and understanding. He just knew how to fight.

It was probably all he'd ever had, a gift he'd plainly dedicated himself to, the evidence of that skill's use clear to see all over his marred body. A tool for survival.

And so the contrast is jarring, to see a man so expert in a thing entirely physical, so entirely ignorant in physical intimacy. 

Her heart broke for him.

What kind of life must he have had?

She smiles at him, softly, hoping the expression is reassuring, kind. 

“Let's just slow down a little.” She tells him, reaching up, cupping his face in her hands. His skin is flushed and warm, eyes bright, skittish like a scared animal. “There's no rush, alright?”

She sees him swallow, staring back at her with unblinking eyes.

“Come on, let's go sit on the bed.” She takes his hand, tugging him gently forward, and he lets her, following after.

She pulls her legs up onto the mattress, crossing them, and sits facing him. 

“Come on.” She says, patting the bed, encouraging him to do the same.

He only stares at her, his chest rising and falling too fast. He's nervous. 

“It's alright.” She tells him again. “Come up here.”

Several seconds pass, but finally he imitates her, pulling his own legs up, sitting awkwardly and stiff as he crosses them the same.

She reaches out again, touching his face, smoothing her thumb across his cheek. He inhales sharply, staring back.

“We'll just make out for a while, okay? You know what I mean?”

He hesitates, saying nothing, before finally shaking his head weakly.

“That's okay.” She promises. “It's just what we've been doing, kissing, touching each other. We'll take it slow. Can I unbutton your shirt?”

Another hesitation, and then he nods, his eyes locked on her face.

She smiles, reaching down, careful as she begins to undo the top button, gradually making her way down. His breathing quickens, and he's holding himself too still, stiff and uncomfortable.

“Try to relax Vegeta.” She encourages. “Remember, I'm not going to do anything you don't want me to.”

She keeps undoing the buttons, slowly revealing his hard, flat chest, then his stomach, until she's undone it fully, and she slides her hands up his arms, slipping them beneath the material covering his shoulders. 

Everywhere she touches him, the pads of her fingers brush over raised scar tissue, and she tries to push that from her mind.

She keeps her eyes on his face as she begins to push the shirt from his shoulders, looking for any kind of protest. But none comes, and so she continues, until the garment is pooled around his tight waist, and she grasps hold of his corded forearms, pulling the sleeves over his hands, until the shirt is off him entirely and he sits with his torso bare.

Bulma allows herself a moment of admiration, letting her eyes move over his body.

He was so ripped. Just like Goku. She didn't think it was possible for a human being to get that way. Even Earth's professional athletes didn't look like this, and it must be something unique to Saiyan physiology, she thinks. This kind of flawless musculature. 

She feels her lips tug up at their corners as she notices his belly button. It sticks out, a contrastingly childlike feature on an otherwise totally mature body.

She's hit suddenly with an incredible urge to press her lips to that body, to taste it.

“Can I...” her thoughts are disrupted by his low voice, and her eyes snap to his face, surprised. He looks unsure, nervous still. “... can I touch you?” He asks, uncharacteristically timid.

She grins, nodding.

“Of course.” She says. “I want you to.”

His gaze falls over her body, only he continues to hesitate, like he doesn't know what to do.

Bulma reaches out, taking hold of his hands.

They're big, she notices. His hands. They would swallow hers whole.

“Here.” She instructs softly, bringing his hands to the buttons of her blouse. “You do the same.”

He stares at her hands around his, not moving.

“It's alright.” She says again, and his eyes move up to her face. She nods. “It's alright.” She repeats.

And finally, after long seconds, he tries.

His fingers are clumsy and stiff, fumbling ineffectively as he struggles to undo the buttons. 

Bulma helps him, taking hold of his hands again, guiding his shaking fingers.

A wash of self-consciousness comes suddenly over her as her top gradually comes apart, something she isn't at all used to, confident as she usually is in her body. She'd always known she was beautiful, and had never been afraid to use that beauty to her advantage. But around Vegeta... he was so ridiculously toned and... well, perfect. It made her feel oddly out of shape. She wasn't. Not really. She worked out every day, had nice tone and definition, her body tight and pretty. Nothing to be ashamed of, truly. And she wasn't. Just... she worried. She didn't know what Vegeta was expecting. What he wanted even. Did he expect her to be like a Saiyan woman? If so, were the women of his kind as impossibly athletic as he was? That was one thing Bulma really wasn't. Athletic. 

If he was expecting her to be like that, he would be disappointed. 

She hopes not.

Though if the way he's staring at her is any indication, she doesn't think she has any reason to be worried. There's an expression of nearly wonder on his face, his gaze lingering on her bare stomach, moving to her breasts. He freezes, his hands falling still, and she decides to make it easier for him, pulling her blouse the rest of the way off, reaching up her back and unclasping her bra.

He seems to start as her breasts come free, his eyes fixing on them like he's never seen anything like them in his life.

Maybe he hasn't, Bulma thinks, and she smiles softly, dropping her bra over the side of the bed and then taking his hand, bringing it to her chest.

“Like this.” She says, pressing his hand over her left breast, curling his fingers over to cup it.

If possible, he grows more tense, his fingers stiff and awkward, not moving, and she leans forward, pressing her lips against his ear.

“It's alright. Just follow my lead.” She whispers before pulling back, bending down and pressing her lips to his again, kissing him gently, slowly.

He's a little more pliant this time, kissing her back, though still he's uncertain and awkward, and she reaches up, cupping his cheek and tilting his face to a better angle. When she pushes her tongue against his lips now, he opens them, and the kiss deepens.

He isn't moving the hand on her breast, and she thinks he probably doesn't know what he's supposed to be doing, and so after a few moments she pulls away.

The disappointment is plain on his face a moment.

“Here, lie back on the bed.” She says. “I want to show you something.”

The disappointment is quickly replaced with suspicion and uncertainty.

“It's okay Vegeta. I swear I'm not going to do anything weird.” She assures him, putting her hands on his shoulders and pressing him back.

He resists for a moment, and it's like pressing against a wall of steel, completely unyielding.

“Please Vegeta.” She presses, and finally he lets her push him down onto his back, still tense as a block of wood. 

“I just want to show you how this works.” She explains carefully. “Do you know what foreplay is?”

Even in the dim lighting she can see his face line with apprehension. She knows this is probably embarrassing for him, not knowing about things most men his age have long since discovered. She feels awful for him, but knows if they're going to get anywhere, she's got to find out what he is and isn't ready for.

At last he gives a shallow shake of his head, and she isn't surprised.

“Alright.” She says. “It's basically the same as making out. We just touch each other, use stimulation to try and get each other aroused. Sort of a preliminary bout to actual intercourse.” She smiles, hoping the analogy helps him understand.

It's hard to tell what he's thinking though as he keeps his eyes fixed on her face, his stomach rising and falling with slightly elevated breathing.

Bulma pauses, trying to think.

“There's certain areas of the body that are really sensitive to touch, and if stimulated, they'll get you ready for sex faster.” She explains further.

She doesn't know what she'd been expecting, but the sudden flash of dread across his face isn't it, or the way his skin seems to pale even more.

“What's wrong?” She asks, concerned.

He shakes his head but doesn't answer.

“Do you want to stop?” She asks, trying to make him as comfortable as possible.

She remembers the first time she'd had sex. Remembers how nervous she was. Remembers, too, the boy she'd done it with hadn't exactly been sensitive to her needs. He hadn't forced her to do anything she didn't want to, but he never really stopped to ask either.

That particular relationship hadn't lasted long.

She wasn't about to be the same kind of jerk.

Again, Vegeta doesn't answer, still staring at her with wide eyes, and Bulma reaches down, pressing her hand to his cheek.

“Hey, listen, it's okay if you want to stop. Just tell me and we will.”

“... You're... you're very beautiful.” Vegeta says suddenly.

Bulma laughs, unable to help it.

“Thanks.” She says. “You're not so bad yourself, you know.”

He doesn't smile, doesn't say anything.

“Do you... want me to show you what I'm talking about? Or do you want to stop?” She asks again.

“... I don't know.” He finally answers after long seconds, his voice barely audible.

He's afraid of something, Bulma thinks, but she can't say what. She's afraid herself of making a wrong move. Afraid of screwing this up again.

“How about we try, and if you don't like it, I'll stop?” She suggests, watching his face carefully.

Another, long few seconds, and at last he nods, just barely.

Bulma feels a wave of relief wash through her, and she smiles, nodding back.

“Alright. This'll feel good, I promise.” She tells him, scooting forward until she's straddling his hips, leaning over him.

She bends down slowly, kissing him on the mouth again before moving lower, pressing her lips to the side of his neck, sucking softly.

He's so ridged beneath her, not moving, hardly seeming to breathe even.

“Try to relax.” She tells him again, worried.

And she shifts down farther, moving her lips to his chest, kissing along it.

He sucks in a sharp breath as she finds his nipple, letting her tongue flick over it.

“W-what are you...” he starts, sounding alarmed.

“It's alright.” She says, lifting her head to look at him. “It's stimulation, like I talked about. Remember? It's meant to make you feel good. But if you want me to stop I will.”

He looks back at her, swallowing thickly. But after a moment he shakes his head, and Bulma takes that as permission to continue, taking his nipple into her mouth again, sucking and biting gently at it.

He's still tense beneath her, his hands fisting into the blanket covering the bed, and when she glances up at his face, his eyes are screwed shut, almost like he's in pain.

“Vegeta,” she starts, her concern growing. 

“Stop.” He chokes out suddenly, voice gasping like he hadn't been breathing.

Immediately Bulma sits up, backing off, and Vegeta nearly rockets off his back, turning and swinging his legs out over the edge of the mattress, leaning his elbows onto his knees and burying his face in his hands.

He sits there like that without saying anything, and Bulma can see, just barely, that he's trembling.

Her throat goes dry, something like guilt mixed with fear choking her voice.

What did she do? He'd told her it was alright, hadn't he? She didn't mean...

Abruptly he stands, pacing fast to the opposite side of the room, and she watches, confused and dismayed, as he presses his forehead to the wall, laying his palms flat against it. And he just stands there, still saying nothing.

Carefully Bulma pulls the blanket from the bed, wrapping it around her shoulders and standing, making her way cautiously towards him.

“Vegeta...” she calls his name softly, standing back from him a few feet, uncertain what's wrong, what he's thinking or feeling.

“You should go...” he says suddenly, his voice hoarse and weak.

Bulma frowns, her confusion mixing now with a little hurt.

“Are... are you sure?” She asks. “Are you okay? I didn't mean...”

“It isn't you.” He cuts her off, and she starts slightly at the anger in his voice. Watches as his hands curl to fists against the wall, his breath quickening.

“... What is it then?” She asks when he doesn't go on. She knows she may be pushing it, but...

It wasn't that he couldn't perform, she knows. She'd felt him starting to get hard through his pants, if only just. 

Bulma has a suspicion though. Only... the thought of it had been so terrible to her, she'd pushed it at first from her mind as even a possibility. No way... no way could something like that happen to someone like Vegeta, she told herself.

Only that was absurd, and she knew that too.

All she needed was to see everything else that had been done to him, and she knew it to be as possible as anything.

Knew, given how he was, given the way he reacted, the fact that he'd never been physically intimate with another person... at least not through his own choice...

It seemed to her more than a possibility. 

It seemed entirely likely.

Oh, how awful...

“Vegeta, did...” she starts, hesitating, not sure... not sure if this is something she should do. “did something happen to you?” She finally forces, voice wavering as cold certainty of it takes firmer hold her heart. “Did someone d-do something to you...”

He moves so fast she doesn't even see it, and at once he has her wrist in his grasp, squeezing painfully hard.

Bulma's mouth falls open, she tries to cry out, only her voice dies in her throat at the absolute fury on Vegeta's face.

“That's none of your concern!” He roars at her, and she knows then. She knows for certain. 

He squeezes down harder on her wrist, the pain at once unbearable, Bulma's knees buckling beneath her.

“S-stop, Vv-Vegeta, you're... y-you're hurting me!” She cries, terrified.

And abruptly the fury seems to clear from his eyes, replaced by naked confusion.

He blinks, contorted features going slack, and he looks down at his hand, crushing her wrist.

At once he lets go, stepping away, his back hitting the wall.

Bulma nearly collapses to the floor, the pain throbbing from her already purpling wrist up through her forearm, into her elbow.

She thinks he's sprained it.

Tears well unbidden in her eyes, streaming down her face a moment later, and she isn't sure why she's crying.

Isn't sure if it's the fear of what just happened, or the pain... or the crushing despair for him.

Her eyes flick to him, fearful, and she sees the stricken expression in his eyes. The horror for what he's just done.

“... Vegeta...” she says, and he turns away from her, hiding his face against the wall.

“Go...” he says, voice strained like he's been screaming.

She doesn't want to. She doesn't want to leave him alone like this.

“Vegeta...” she calls his name again.

“GET OUT!” He screams, his voice suddenly like thunder, and Bulma gasps, scrambling away.

She runs from the room. Doesn't look back. Keeps running until she reaches her own.

The door slides locked behind her and she collapses to her knees, her hands coming up over her mouth.

Sobs press their way past, loud and ugly and heartbroken. 

And it's madness she thinks, to do this. Madness to care about him at all. Dangerous. She shouldn't. She shouldn't.

Only the fear is like a crushing wave, because she knows...

She knows already she cares about him so much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you so much to everyone for all your support! I'm so glad to know you guys are liking my story and find it interesting. It really inspires me to keep writing every time you leave a comment, so if you have a chance, please let me know your thoughts, and I hope you continue to like it!


	13. Chapter 13

“Wake up Vegeta.”

His eyes snap open and Kakarott is above him, face inches from his own. Only the expression is all wrong. Cruel smirk and vicious, green eyes in place of placid stupidity and kindness, yellow blaze of hair framing it all. 

He straddles Vegeta's waist, and when he tries to move, he can't, finds his arms trapped above his head, pinned to the ground at the wrists. Kakarott's powerful hands squeeze over thin bones underneath skin, threatening to break, and he grins at Vegeta with sick satisfaction.

“What's the matter?” He asks, leaning closer, hands squeezing tighter, and pain surges down Vegeta's arms, into his shoulders. “Does the great Saiyan Prince have nothing to say?”

Rage erupts behind Vegeta's eyes, and he thrashes, trying with every ounce of his strength to break free. How dare such low class scum speak to him so?! How dare he lay hands on him like this!?

Only he can't move at all, his efforts yielding nothing, Kakarott holding him easily as he might a newborn kitten, and gradually rage turns to familiar fear... turns to despair. Can't win, can't break free, can't fight back...

He turns his face aside as Kakarott leans closer still, until his breath is hot on Vegeta's skin, and he laughs, low and deep.

“Look at you.” He says, voice thick with disgust. “Pathetic. You're nobodies prince, Vegeta. Nobodies savior. Weak, useless. You make me sick.”

And Vegeta feels one of those giant hands press then against his face, against his mouth, his nose, pressing, pressing, and he can't breathe suddenly, can't get any air. Panic swells merciless from the pit of his stomach, his eyes wide in terror, and he can't breathe, can't breathe, can't breathe...

Thrashes, twists and pulls and fights, and he's too weak, too weak, can't break free, can't get out...

Kakarott laughs, laughs and laughs, hand pressing harder, and Vegeta feels himself begin to sink into the ground, the dirt crumbling, caving in beneath him. Pushing down, down, pushing him into a shallow grave.

He's going to die, he thinks vaguely, the light above him beginning to dim. Going to die.

Scary as it was the first time. Doesn't want to. Scared. He's scared.

Sorry Papa... sorry, sorry... sorry...

“Vegeta?”

His eyes snap open and Kakarott is above him, face inches from his own.

He gasps, rocketing up and scrambling away, back hitting the trunk of the tree he'd fallen asleep under.

“Woah, hey...” Kakarott holds his hands up, palms out. “calm down! You were havin' some kinda nightmare and I thought I should wake ya up before someone else saw.”

Vegeta's chest rises and falls with too rapid breath, his heart hammering painfully behind his ribs as he glares at the other Saiyan.

Dream... it had only been a dream.

He wasn't dying. Kakarott wasn't...

“Are you okay?” Kakarott asks. He's sitting on his knees, a few feet back from Vegeta, staring at him with his usual, dull witted confusion, and the relief Vegeta feels at that is embarrassing.

He turns his head away, staring at the lush grass stretching out towards the house.

“Go away.” He says flatly, praying his humiliation isn't making itself known on his face.

The last person he wants to see is Kakarott, the insufferable buffoon. Just wants to be left alone. 

His hands tremble and he clasps them together hard in his lap, keeping his eyes away.

“Just thought I'd see how you were doin'!” The idiot rambles on, not at all listening. “Last time I saw you, things weren't so hot, huh?”

Vegeta's teeth grind together, his eyes screwing shut. Why was Kakarott here? Why was he talking to him. Go away, go away.

“Actually, Bulma called me. She said she was worried about ya.” He goes on. “Wanted me to check in. So, here I am!”

Vegeta turns to look at the other Saiyan then, his heart kicking faster.

“What did she tell you?!” He demands, already feeling his temper rise dangerously.

Kakarott shrugs, oblivious.

“Nothin' much. Just said you were havin' a hard time. She said she didn't think you were trainin' even! She thought I might be able to help, I guess.”

“That bitch knows nothing!” Vegeta growls, pushing himself to his feet, fully intending to take off, away from here, away from Kakarott and all of this.

“Hey!” Kakarott says, getting to his own feet, and it's shameful the way Vegeta has to force himself not to take a step back, the other man towering over him reminding him of bad memories. “That's not very nice Vegeta! Bulma's been nothin' but good to you, lettin' you stay in her home and everything!”

Vegeta stares at the ground, hands curled to fists at his sides.

That was shameful too. He shouldn't have called the woman that. He knows it. Shouldn't have. Just confused, didn't know... didn't know what was happening. Wasn't her fault what happened. Wasn't her fault he was so fucked up, too weak to... too weak to even...

It had felt nice, what she'd shown him. Thought about it a lot since. Thought about what she looked like, how beautiful... how beautiful she was. Wanted to touch her again, wanted her to... to kiss him again, wanted...

Hadn't meant to hurt her. Forgot his own strength, sometimes. She'd looked so scared, and that was it. She probably never wanted to see him again. Probably hated him now. Wouldn't blame her if she did. Surprised she hadn't thrown him out yet. Didn't know why. Thought she would have, expected it... Why would she...

“Yo, Vegeta, are you...”

Kakarott's hand is suddenly on his shoulder, and Vegeta reacts without thinking, reaching up and smacking it violently away.

“Don't touch me!” He snarls, and he hates the way he has to crane his head all the way back just to see the other Saiyan's face. Hates the way he feels like a child standing next to him. Wonders why he couldn't have been tall like his father, couldn't have been more like him in every way. 

“Why're you so mad?” The idiot asks, that same, dumb, innocent look on his face. “I'm just tryin' to help. You seem like you're havin' a bad time, and Bulma said...”

“I could have had your head for touching me like that!” Vegeta snaps, cutting him off, regret and shame and hate and loss, and he can't control any of this. Why is he here? What is he doing? 

“Huh?” Kakarott looks at him in confusion.

“You put hands on me!” Vegeta snaps, vicious, sick. Can't take it anymore. Nappa would never have, Raditz... “Your Prince! Low class scum! You dare!?”

The confused look drains from Kakarott's face, replaced fast with displeasure.

“You don't gotta...” he starts.

“You are a Saiyan warrior. My subject. You should bow at my feet and beg my forgiveness, you disrespectful, obtuse...”

“I'm not a Saiyan, I'm an Earthling.” Kakarott talks over him, friendliness gone from his voice. “And you ain't my prince or whatever. You're just an opponent I already beat...”

Vision goes red, hate, hate, hate... Can't control how much he hates.

Kakarott saying something else, but Vegeta doesn't hear him, doesn't know what he's saying.

Hates him though. Hates Kakarott so much. Wants to hurt him. Wants to beat him bloody. Doesn't think. Just react. React when there's an enemy, don't think.

He lashes out, grabbing hold of Kakarott's gi, hooking his calf round his ankles, sweeping his legs out from under him.

Kakarott starts to go down to his back, and Vegeta moves to pin him, wants to punch his face in, break it all apart.

The world spins, too fast. Vegeta doesn't know what happens. He's on his back now, Kakarott over him.

Reversed. He reversed their positions, somehow.

“Stop it!” Kakarott screams, holding him by the material of his shirt, holding his head off the ground. 

Vegeta thrashes, wild, desperate.

Fear... fear...

He'd been afraid, that first time. That battle, that first battle with Kakarott. Impossible. It had been impossible. There wasn't another Saiyan as powerful as he was. Wasn't another more... more powerful. Impossible. 

That first blow, Kakarott had hit him... hit him, and he shouldn't have been able to! And he'd been scared, he remembers. Been scared of another Saiyan, and how was that possible? How, how? Sick fucking joke of it all. Couldn't even be the most powerful among his people, even when he was supposed to be. Outdone by a lower class, by a... a...

He lashes out blindly, trying to hit Kakarott's face, to get away from him, and Kakarott dodges easily.

Angry now, Vegeta can see it on his face.

Kakarott hauls him up from the ground, spinning him, slamming him against the tree.

Vegeta growls, tries to hit him again. Nothing working. Kakarott's too fast, too strong...

“What are you doing!?” Kakarott shouts, pinning him against the trunk, leaning his forearm against his chest.

Losing it. He's losing it. Can't see straight. Can't think.

“I am an elite! An elite warrior of my people!” Vegeta cries, reaching up, wrapping his hands round Kakarott's forearms, trying to pry them free. It's like trying to move an entire mountain. 

“Yeah!? And so what!?” Kakarott screams back, and Vegeta freezes, mind blanking out. Fear, fear, fear. He stares up at Kakarott and wants to be away from here.

“So you're an elite, and I'm a low class whatever.” Kakarott goes on, refusing to loosen his hold, and Vegeta bites down on his tongue to keep from begging. “I'm still stronger than you!”

Red rage, dazed, doesn't know. Confused. Always so confused.

His voice chokes in his throat.

“... Y-you would renounce your heritage, your people.” He stammers out, and he's so alone, doesn't know what to do anymore. “The pride... pride of your people...”

“They aren't my people. You aren't my prince.” Kakarott says, pity in his voice. Can't take that. Doesn't want anyone's pity. “Why are you so afraid of me?”

Vegeta turns his face away, wants to beg. Wants Kakarott to let him go. Shame that he can't break free. Papa would hate him.

“Not afraid of you...” he mutters weakly.

“Yes, you are.” Kakarott says.

They stand there like that for long seconds, and Vegeta stops fighting, goes limp in Kakarott's hold. Can't fight, can't break free anyway.

“I'm gonna let you go now, alright?” He hears Kakarott say.

Doesn't answer. Eyes sting. Wishes they would stop doing that.

Arm pressed against his chest pulls away, pressure gone, hand fisted in his shirt gone.

Vegeta stumbles, starts to go down, Kakarott catches him, sinks to the ground with him.

“Hey,” he says, and Vegeta shoves him off.

“Fuck off me...” He says. “Not scared of you...”

Somehow, Kakarott listens this time, doesn't touch Vegeta again, lets Vegeta go as he crawls like the useless animal he is to the tree again, pressing himself against it, turning away from the other Saiyan.

Humiliating. That's all Vegeta seemed to know anymore.

“... Gonna surpass you someday. I'm gonna beat you Kakarott.” He says, not really caring if Kakarott hears him at all.

“Okay.” Kakarott says, so easy, so sure. 

What's that like, Vegeta wonders. What's that feel like? 

Another long stretch of silence.

Just wishes the bastard would go away.

“I can help you, ya know.” Kakarott says. “You wanna know how to become a Super Saiyan, right? I can help you.”

Vegeta doesn't answer. Feels sick. Doesn't want some low class scum's help. Doesn't need it. He'll become a Super Saiyan on his own. Always did everything on his own anyway.

“It's cause you're always angry, ya know.” Kakarott keeps talking, and Vegeta fucking hates him. “I couldn't figure out at first how I became a Super Saiyan. It just sorta'... happened, ya know?!”

No, he doesn't know. Doesn't know anything. Tried so hard, for so long. Pushed and pushed himself, almost died, so many times almost died, wanting to get stronger, never strong enough. Never got anywhere close.

“And then it hit me one day!” Kakarott goes on, that carefree tone back in his voice. “It was when Frieza killed Krillin, and I got so angry, it just happened. I don't think I've ever been that angry in my life. That Frieza guy sure was bad.”

Rage again, like fire on his insides.

He turns to Kakarott, burning, hating.

“You know nothing about Frieza!” He spits, voice guttural, thick. 

Kakarott frowns, stupid look on his stupid face.

“Well I know he was strong.” He says. “And fightin' someone is like knowin' 'em, in a way. It was so much fun fightin' him too! I still can't believe...”

His voice fades off. Can't take it. Can't take listening to it anymore, Vegeta thinks. Gonna be sick. 

Dumb bastard.

“... You didn't kill him.” Vegeta mumbles.

“Huh?” Kakarott says. “What?”

Vegeta's lids squeeze shut, head spinning.

“You didn't kill him, you stupid fucker. You didn't... thought it was fun...”

A half choked laugh bubbles up from his throat. It's funny, really. Funny. So easy for Kakarott. Everything's so easy.

“Well, no.” He's talking again. “I tried to give him a second chance. Everyone deserves one.”

Can't take it. Oh gods, can't...

He pushes himself to his feet, moves away. Fast. Got to get out of here.

“Hey, where are ya goin'?!” He hears Kakarott yell behind him. Just keeps going. Can't listen to it anymore. “I was gonna tell you how to become a Super Saiyan!”

Didn't even know what a Super Saiyan was, Vegeta thinks, and he keeps going. Didn't know until he told him, didn't know what he was at all, even, his whole, dumb life didn't know...

Didn't need his help, then. Didn't need anyone's help for anything. Would do it on his own. 

Always did everything on his own anyway...

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Nothing happens for weeks.

And there's nothing worse than living in fear, Vegeta is beginning to realize. 

He knows something is going to happen, knows it's coming. 

It's the waiting for it, the dread of waiting... It's almost worse than whatever it might possibly be.

Frieza acts as though nothing at all had happened. 

As though Vegeta hadn't failed to appear with his unit at the launch sight, where two hundred of the emperors men had been waiting, hadn't failed to travel to the designated sector, hadn't failed to repress the rebellion and deliver the planet to the PTO within the promised time constraint. 

That's how Frieza acts, but Vegeta knows, as does Nappa and Raditz, that of course he does. Knows, of course, he isn't going to let it stand without retribution.

Every day is a nauseating waiting game, just waiting... waiting for something to happen.

Vegeta can't stand it, can't anymore.

He feels sick all the time, on the verge of vomiting. 

He has, more than a few times, whenever Frieza has called him to his private quarters, and he knew, just knew, this time was going to be it. This time Frieza was going to let him have it.

Nappa watches him with concerned eyes. Raditz insists on following him everywhere. He wishes they would stop it. It's just making it worse. Making him feel worse.

Can't sleep, can't hardly eat. Convenient, that, considering they have no real food anyway. 

That opportunity was lost with his fuck up.

“You're hair's fallin' out.” Nappa tells him one day while brushing it, and it's true. His bangs have started to thin out, receding along his forehead. 

Nappa's too though. There's hardly anything left of that Mohawk of his. 

Only Nappa's almost thirty years old. Vegeta's eight. 

Keeps having nightmares, can't sleep. 

Dreams about his father a lot. Dreams awful things. Dreams that Frieza kills him, and Vegeta tries to stop him, tries to fight him, only he's too weak, too weak to save his father, and his father looks at him with so much disappointment in his eyes before... before Frieza...

Best not to think about those things though. 

Vegeta hasn't heard from his father in nearly four years. Hasn't seen him since...

He's alive though. He has to be alive. He's coming to rescue him, someday. Vegeta knows that. Knows his father wouldn't leave him here. Wouldn't abandon him.

Tries to ignore the guilty look in Nappa's eyes when he asks about Father. Tries to pretend he doesn't see it, doesn't know what it means. 

Tries to tell himself Nappa isn't lying when he says Father's coming for him. When he says Father's going to beat Frieza, restore their planet and their kingdom...

“It'll be alright Vegeta.” Nappa says, and he tries to tell himself that isn't a lie either.

Raditz is with him now, helping him bathe.

Vegeta half-heartedly tries to tell him he can do it himself. He doesn't need help. Only deep down he doesn't want Raditz to go. Doesn't want to be alone now.

Raditz is smart. He knows without Vegeta having to tell him. 

Vegeta feels grateful to him for that.

“Come on,” Raditz tells him, helping to pull his armor over his head. “a warm bath will help you relax some. You've been too tense lately little man.”

Vegeta scowls at him. He hates it when Raditz calls him that. The other boy is hardly older than he is, after all. 

He looks grown though, already over six feet tall. Broad and muscular. 

Vegeta looks like a toddler still. Has hardly grown two inches in four years. 

The head physician in the med bay is supposedly concerned. Says Vegeta's severely undersized. Stunted growth, she says a lot. Not getting proper nutrition for someone of his age and with his metabolism. Says he should be at least six inches taller than he is, instead of the 34 inches he currently stands at. Says he should weight at least 50 pounds, instead of the 28 he does.

Nappa and Raditz look at him with scared eyes, disappointed, no doubt, in the pathetic stature of their prince.

Vegeta wants to be tall like his father when he grows up. 

Raditz is looking at him with that same scared expression again as he helps peel Vegeta's undergarments off, exposing his skinny, pale torso.

“I can do it.” Vegeta tells him when he moves to get his pants down, and Raditz only nods, waiting as Vegeta struggles momentarily out of the form fitting garment. A moment later he's standing naked in their tiny washroom, and Raditz is again checking the temperature of the water in their bathing tub.

“Seems alright.” He says after a moment. “You wanna get in?” He turns to Vegeta.

Vegeta nods, doesn't protest when Raditz picks him up under the arms and places him gently down in the warm water.

It feels nice, and Vegeta lets himself sink down into it, the tension in his body loosening up as the seconds pass.

Feels nice as Raditz brings a wet cloth up to his shoulders, dragging it across them, down his back, strong fingers massaging the knots of tension as he goes.

Vegeta's shoulders droop, his chin dipping down to his chest. Let's his eyes drift closed.

“You're too thin Vegeta.” Raditz' voice filters in, and Vegeta's eyes come open, staring listlessly at the wall in front of him. He doesn't say anything. What is there to say? They can't get any food, and it's his fault. “Close your eyes.” Raditz goes on, and Vegeta does, feeling the warm water pour over his head a moment later, flattening his hair. Wet strands come down over his face, sticking to it. 

He sighs brokenly as Raditz begins working the conditioner into his scalp. They'd bought that special. For his birthday last year. It had eaten up a lot of their credits, and Vegeta had been upset, but Nappa and Raditz had insisted, had even foregone purchasing their own personal items for the next several weeks, the few there were, to make up the difference. 

Vegeta had always had unusually thick hair, and without conditioner it always became impossibly tangled and difficult to manage. 

They tried to use it sparingly then, so they wouldn't run out too soon.

The two of them sit quietly for the next several minutes, Raditz rinsing the conditioner out of Vegeta's hair, Vegeta trying to think of nothing.

“You alright?” Raditz eventually asks, moving around to face the younger boy, dragging the cloth across his chest, lifting his arms, running it down to his small hands, cleaning between his fingers, cleaning his arm pits.

Vegeta shrugs after a little while, not saying anything. He keeps his eyes on the water.

Raditz reaches out, pushing Vegeta's wet hair up off his forehead, looking at him intently. Vegeta wishes he would stop.

“You wanna talk about anything?” Raditz presses quietly.

Vegeta's eyes flash up to him quickly before skittering away. Hates the concerned look on the older boy's face.

“Talk about what?” He finally says. He feels tired. Wishes he could go to sleep. Wishes he could sleep at all.

“Anything you want to.” Raditz answers. “Doesn't have to be anything important.”

Vegeta keeps his eyes on the water, distracts himself with running his hands over the surface, watching the ripples it makes.

He used to talk to Raditz more, he thinks. Wants to talk to him all the time still. Wants to tell him all kinds of things, ask him all kinds of questions. Raditz is easier to talk to than Nappa. Doesn't ever really get mad at him, the way Nappa sometimes does. Lets him talk about silly things without getting mad.

Nappa tries to teach him. Gives him lessons. Some of the same things he'd been learning when he still was with Father and had had a daily tutor. Different languages and things. Political things. Only Nappa isn't a very good teacher, gets angry when Vegeta doesn't learn fast enough, when he gets distracted. Yells at him, tells him he needs to learn to survive, needs to know more than just how to fight with his body, needs to know how to fight with his mind too, says he needs to know these things for when he takes over from Father as King. Says he needs to know them to fight Frieza, someday.

“You're our only hope Vegeta.” Nappa tells him.

Doesn't want that. Doesn't want to be the only one. Doesn't want everyone's hope. Doesn't think he can do it. Doesn't think he can be that for them...

“Hey,” Raditz' voice jars him from his thoughts, and he looks up, the older Saiyan smiling vaguely down at him. Reaches out, tapping his knuckle under Vegeta's chin. “you know you're fucking' great, right?”

Vegeta stares up at him, saying nothing.

He used to think that. Used to believe all the things everyone said about him. How great he was, how great he would be...

Doesn't anymore. Not really.

Raditz taps him under the chin again, still smiling.

“Hey, I'm practically a little girl compared to you man.” He says. “You've sure as hell made me feel like one, slappin' me around in our sparring sessions.” He laughs, and Vegeta can't help the small smile which tugs at the corners of his lips, a swell of pride bubbling up in his chest.

He had started to get the better of both Raditz and Nappa in sparring sessions, even though both of them were so much bigger and stronger than him. Probably always would be, a voice in his head tells him, and he tries to ignore it.

His ki was more powerful, though, and he was faster. It made him feel good, when he did so well.

Raditz smiles broader at him, laying his hand along Vegeta's crown.

“There you go!” He says. “There's the Vegeta I know! Little bad ass mother fucker!”

Vegeta laughs, can't help it, pride swelling bigger.

“... Yeah.” He says, unconscious as he straightens up a little.

“Don't get too cocky though.” Raditz mock warns, pointing a finger in his face. “I can still kick your ass at eating and hand stands.”

“Can not!” Vegeta puffs up, swiping at Raditz' arm, and Raditz pulls out of reach, laughing.

“Can too!” He insists back, reaching into the water, splashing it into Vegeta's face.

“Hey!” Vegeta cries, indignant, and he splashes Raditz back.

It sets them off, the both of them laughing now as they splash water at each other, neither of them really noticing as it sloshes over the edge of the tub, onto the floor.

For a moment, Vegeta forgets where he is. What his life is. Feels almost happy for a moment. Like when he was with Father still, at the palace, when he was back home...

Doesn't last long.

“Well isn't this adorable!” 

Vegeta nearly gasps as he feels his breath leave him, the sound of Zarbon's voice suddenly filling the small space. Watches as Raditz' face goes pale, the smile draining from it and replaced with plain fear, laughter dying instantly away.

“I told you you can't go in there, you fuckin' green skinned piece of...” Nappa's voice drifts in from the other room, and it's cut off an instant later by a strangled choking noise, followed by the sound of Nappa's huge frame hitting the floor.

Raditz rockets to his feet, moving around the tub, and with hesitation, Vegeta turns to see what he's looking at.

Zarbon is standing there in the doorway, hands grasping the frame on either side, smirking at the both of them. Can see Nappa on his knees behind him, arms wrapped round his stomach, face contorted in pain.

“Though I do hope you realize any structural damage your rooms incur will be docketed out of whatever credits you earn.” Zarbon goes on. “That includes, of course, water damage.”

That haze again in Vegeta's brain. Feels his fear give way to blinding rage and hate. Body tensing, wants to smash Zarbon's stupid, perfect face in, wants to kill him...

Doesn't think, mouth comes open, starts screaming at Zarbon.

“Get out!” He cries, as if he has any authority. “You aren't... aren't allowed in here! Get out!”

Zarbon's smirk only widens, stepping fully into the wash room, starting towards Vegeta.

Humiliation begins to sink in as the boy realizes how it is Zarbon found them, laughing and playing like children, fear beginning to rush back as Frieza's lieutenant draws nearer.

“You're almost cute when you laugh Vegeta.” Zarbon keeps talking. “Well, as cute as a savage, dirty little beast like you can be, I suppose. You know, I don't believe I've ever seen you actually play before. I forget sometimes that you're a child. Forgivable, of course. Ugly as you are, anyone would mistake you for a midget instead.”

“Don't...” Radtiz moves in front of Vegeta, momentarily blocking him from the boy's view. “Zarbon, don't...”

“Move.” Zarbon says, and Vegeta watches in horror as he sinks his fingers into Raditz' long mane of hair, tossing him bodily across the room to crash hard into the adjacent wall.

Vegeta's given no time to react at all as Zarbon is upon him then, reaching for him, hand plunging into the bath water, fingers like a clamp of iron closing round his tail.

A shock of paralyzing pain strangles him as Zarbon jerks him up out of the tub, and he can't move, can hardly breathe as he hangs limp, upside down in Zarbon's hold, agony, agony... Hurts so much, can't think, can't breathe, can't move. Mouth falls open, scream tries to come up, but can't, can't make a sound.

Thought he'd been getting better. Nappa was teaching him, showing him how to overcome it, thought he'd been...

Somewhere, distant, like he's under water, he can hear Raditz and Nappa struggling to regain their footing, hears Raditz' voice, begging weakly.

“Don't... don't hurt him Zarbon, p-please, don't hurt him...”

“Lord Frieza commands your presence in his private suites.” Zarbon says, ignoring him. “All of you. You have twenty minutes to comply, so I suggest you hurry it up and make yourselves presentable.”

Dizzying motion then as Zarbon swings him viciously round, head snapping painfully back, then forward, and then he's flying through the air, no control, too fast to do anything.

He crashes into the wall, explosion of fresh pain, blacks out a moment then.

When he wakes, Raditz and Nappa are crouched over him, head in Raditz' lap. Concerned look on their faces.

Wants to cry. Doesn't let himself. Pushes himself up, pushes them away.

“... I'm fine.” He mumbles. Gets to his feet, knees buckle, goes back down.

Dizzy, nauseous. Scared. So scared. Doesn't want to see Frieza, doesn't know what's going to happen. Throws up, water and nothing else. 

Doesn't have the strength then to push them away. Doesn't even try as Nappa puts his hands round his shoulders, as Raditz brings a cloth to wipe at his mouth and chin. Wants to bury his face against them. Wants to hide. Hears them talking, saying something to him. Doesn't know. Can't make out their words anyway.

Wants to be away from here.

Wants to go home.

Wants to go home and be with Father so much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, massive thank you's to all my readers and supporters! You guys are the best!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, all my thanks to all my readers and reviews, and as always, please leave a review if you have a chance, it helps me to keep going. Just a little warning on this chapter, there's again a reference to a noncon situation from Vegeta's childhood, though we don't see the actual scene here like before.

Bulma finds him in the backyard in the middle of the night, training.

She'd been unable to sleep, thoughts consumed with him... with what had happened. Stupid, she thinks. She'd been so stupid. Gone too fast, been too forward. He hadn't been ready for that. 

Foolishly she'd assumed because he was the one who had initially asked that he would understand what he was asking for. But he didn't, and it felt too much to Bulma like having taken advantage of him, what she'd done. 

She knew that hadn't been her intention, but she didn't know what he thought, and the fact he'd been actively avoiding her since that night didn't bode well.

She'd thought at first to give him his space, hoping he would eventually come back, would maybe even want to engage again, to try one more time. But as the days had turned into a week, and than another, it became increasingly clear to Bulma that she was going to have to address whatever was going on.

The biggest blunder she'd made was calling Goku and asking him to check up on Vegeta for her. She hadn't told her best friend what had happened, of course. She was smart enough to know that would never be a good idea. But she couldn't help feeling like Goku and Vegeta could somehow connect, could even be friends, if only Vegeta were willing. 

Goku was no problem at all. She'd never known a more laid back, confident, accepting person. He had no judgments, no suspicions or fears.

Exactly the opposite of Vegeta. 

That made evident by the fallout from Goku's visit.

Vegeta had at least still been hanging around the property, but after the encounter with Goku, he'd taken off someplace unknown again, and after Goku had told her what had happened, she couldn't exactly blame him.

She'd chewed Goku out hard for that fuck up. He'd been unfazed, confused even, in typical Goku fashion. He didn't understand why Vegeta was so angry. It wasn't his fault, really. Goku was just simple like that. Didn't understand a lot of things, especially something as subtle and complex as emotion.

And unlike Bulma's other friends, Goku was also willing to give Vegeta a chance, had even expressed fondness for him, talking fervently about how much he admired the Saiyan prince, how Vegeta inspired him to keep going, keep trying to improve himself, to get stronger and more skilled. He almost idolized Vegeta's talent, which was something none of the other people in her life had been willing to acknowledge at all.

But it hadn't been a good idea to try and force a bond between them. Bulma realizes that now. She just wanted Vegeta to connect with someone other than her. Someone he could relate to. She'd thought the fact that they were the only two, full blooded Saiyans left in existence, and the fact they were both powerful warriors, would have been a good foundation, but she'd underestimated Vegeta's sense of isolation and aloofness, underestimated just how socially ill at ease he really was. Goku could be a bit much even for someone well adjusted, and Vegeta was anything but.

He'd come back again though, this morning, and Bulma had decided then she should talk to him herself. 

He'd scared her, she couldn't deny. Scared the shit out of her really, and her wrist was still in a cast from the sprain he'd given her. Something she'd had to lie about to all her friends, claiming it had been a lab accident. Vegeta hadn't apologized either, and she'd been mad about that at first, after her initial shock had worn off. 

But the more she thought about it, the more her anger seemed absurd. He hadn't meant to hurt her, and to expect him to even know how to apologize seemed unrealistic. She didn't think he had the social skills.

Unable to sleep, she'd forced herself from bed, and gazing out her bedroom window, she'd seen him out here in the back yard, going through various motions, shadow boxing and kicking, pushing himself, as always, to extremes.

No one else was awake or around, they wouldn't be interrupted, and so Bulma had decided now was as good a time as any to talk with him.

Wrapping herself in her nightgown, she'd come downstairs and made her way to the back door, moving out into the yard.

For a long while, she's just been standing here, watching him, again admiring the beauty of his movement and form.

He knows she's there, she's sure, but he hasn't turned to acknowledge her in any way.

She can see the sweat glistening off of his bare skin, even in the dark, his corded muscles shifting and sliding smoothly beneath tight skin. He looks absolutely perfect, wearing nothing but a pair of tight training shorts and some worn out boots. 

Finally, after nearly an hour, he stops, and she watches as he flops down in the grass, his back to her, legs crossed. He puts his head in his hands, and she realizes in that moment that he'd been hoping she would get bored, or maybe irritated at his ignoring her, and simply give up.

He doesn't realize she could watch him like this endlessly and never grow tired of it. Or that she could be easily as stubborn as he was. She wasn't going to give up that easily.

She finally moves, crossing the lawn and lowering herself at his side.

“... Hey.” She says softly after a long moment.

He keeps his head in his hands, not answering.

“Nice night out.” She says, trying for small talk. “Good for training I guess, huh?”

She glances at him from her periphery, and still he says nothing.

She sighs, frowning. She wishes she knew what to say to fix this, wishes she knew what to do. It was just so difficult with him. And he was so unpredictable.

“Vegeta, listen, what happened... I'm sorry. I didn't mean for...”

“Why do you apologize for a thing which isn't your doing?” He cuts her off, his voice, after so much silence, startling in the dark.

Bulma blinks, turning her head to look at him.

He hasn't moved, his head still in his hands.

“I...” she starts, then stops, thinking. 

He was right, she supposes. She'd started to apologize out of desperation, and a residual feeling of guilt, but she hadn't actually done anything to him which he hadn't given her permission to. But then, there had been that moment, when she'd asked him if anyone had ever done anything to him. She hadn't said exactly what, but the meaning couldn't have been clearer, given the context. 

The question hangs still like dead air between them, the words heavy on her tongue.

Has anyone ever molested you, she thinks, and swallows the words down her throat.

“I don't know.” She finally says, shrugging as she stares down at her own hands. “I just feel bad, I guess. I wanted things to go good, and... and I shouldn't have stuck my nose into...” she trails off, nervous suddenly at the near slip up.

She glances to him again, and watches as he drags his knees up to his chest, burying his face against the tops.

“Vegeta, do you still... still want to try or...” she goes on, unsure of how to even say it. Things were suddenly so awkward; she suddenly felt like she couldn't make a move without somehow taking advantage of him.

He turns his head, facing away from her.

“I'm not interested in your pity, woman.” He says softly, voice limp and listless.

Bulma frowns, forcing her initial angry reaction down, and she shakes her head.

“It's not pity Vegeta. I still... I'd still want to sleep with you, if that was something you wanted to. But I just don't know, you won't talk to me, so I don't know what you want.”

Suddenly he pushes himself to his feet, a single, fluid movement which makes her feel positively clumsy by comparison.

“I need to wash.” He says, and turns, beginning to walk away, back towards the house.

For fuck's sake...

“Vegeta, wait!” Bulma says, struggling to her own feet and reaching out, grabbing hold of his wrist without thought.

It felt like all of their interactions ended up like this, him storming off and her begging him not to go. It was ridiculous.

He stops, but doesn't turn to face her. Doesn't tear out from her grasp though either, and Bulma can't help taking that as a good sign.

“Do you... do you want me to join you?” She asks tentatively.

She feels him stiffen, before he turns, looking over his shoulder at her, face lined in confusion.

“... Join me... in...?”

“In your shower.” She supplies when his voice trails off. She smiles softly, nodding. “It might be fun. We don't have to do anything. But it could... be a good way to get used to each other, make things easier if we decide to try again at some point.”

She can see the embarrassment on his face, the discomfort and uncertainty as he averts his gaze to the ground. But whether it's from the idea of them taking a shower together, or the suggestion that he might need some extra help in becoming comfortable enough for them to have sex, or something else entirely, Bulma isn't sure.

“Hey, you're practically naked now, so what's the big deal, right?” She jokes lightly, regretting it almost instantly when she sees him stiffen and his face twist into a scowl.

“I don't care whether you see me disrobed or not.” He snaps. “I've lived my entire life among soldiers and men. You grow accustomed to nudity in an army barracks fast enough. “

“Okay, okay,” Bulma puts her hands up. “it was just a joke.”

Vegeta doesn't seem to think it was very funny though. One thing Bulma had learned quickly about him. He didn't have much of a sense of humor. Not that she knew of, anyway. It was hard to tell what he might really be like, underneath all the tension and up-tightness.

He doesn't say anything now, but she can see his jaw tighten, can practically see the gears turning in his head as he considers her suggestion.

“So... what do you think?” She finally prompts after nearly a minute of no response.

Finally he straightens, still not looking at her as her barks out...

“Fine.” 

And he turns, beginning to stride in that quick way of his towards the house.

Bulma can't help but smile as she jogs after him. Can't help like feeling she's just won a huge victory.

//

He can't stop staring at her, and he knows he must look like the biggest fool in the world.

It's only...

He's seen innumerable women of countless differing species in his lifetime. All different kinds, different shapes and sizes and colors. Seen them almost entirely in states of extreme stress and fear. 

Seen women raped and beaten, seen them stripped naked and shoved into death chambers, or processed into armies of slaves, forced into hard labor or the business of prostitution. 

He'd never done any of those things. 

His job had been killing. He and his unit always the first in the offensive line. Sent out to quash any manner of resistance which might present itself. 

His business had been dealing death to anyone stupid enough to fight back, and he'd been good at it. Men mostly. But he'd killed plenty of women and children too. Didn't matter. It was all the same. Kill or be killed. Any pockets of resistance remaining after he and his team had been sent on a purge, and Frieza would have killed him and the rest fast enough.

It was Frieza's other men who came in afterward, for cleanup, processing of whatever inhabitants remained, terraforming, and Vegeta, when still on planet, had seen all those other things that went on. 

It disgusted him. Seemed to him dishonorable. Herding people like cattle, using their bodies to satisfy some sick desire, using them like play things when they could no longer fight back.

Did nothing to stop it though. Wasn't his job. Wasn't his place. 

Guesses Bulma would hate him for it, if she knew. 

Would hate him if she knew what he really was. 

She had no idea.

He'd seen countless women in his life.

He'd never seen anyone like her.

She's beautiful... so beautiful, he thinks; can't stop staring at her.

Standing naked in front of him, smiling, smiling at him, and he doesn't understand why. Doesn't understand why she wants anything to do with him at all.

Her body is... he wants to touch her... wants to grab her and hold her against him and...

It's vulgar, the thoughts going through his head, and he feels at once ashamed, his gaze skittering from her, fixing on the floor of the stall they're in.

It had been harder than he'd thought it would be, undressing in front of her, and he doesn't know why. It had been the truth, when he'd told her one grew accustomed to nudity when living with other men, other soldiers in an army barracks. He'd seen so many naked bodies, had himself been naked so many times in front of others, that it long ago had begun to feel no different to him than being before others fully dressed. Only...

The way the woman's eyes swept unabashedly over his own body, lingering what seemed to him purposefully on certain areas, it made Vegeta's cheeks color red and, to his unspeakable horror, he'd begun to grow partially erect just staring at her, a fact he'd tried miserably to cover up by turning away, but she saw, he knows she did.

She was kind not to say anything.

He's disgusted with himself, humiliated at his own base weakness, the evidence that he's really no less foul minded than anyone else.

He used to like to pretend that he was. That he was above those sorts of physical urges and weaknesses. But he's always known that wasn't true anyway. Deep down he has. 

He doesn't understand why Bulma is interested at all.

He remembers going with Nappa and Raditz to brothels, and to establishments where women would dance naked for money. He'd never wanted to go, but the two of them had always insisted, harassing him endlessly until he'd finally just give in, if only to shut them up.

He'd begun to understand then, for the first time, just how truly ugly he really was, when none of those women had ever shown any real interest in him. 

They would have gladly taken his money, of course, and serviced him accordingly. But he could never have failed to notice, after a while, the way the workers in those places actively avoided him, while always making straight for both Nappa and Raditz, always talking sweetly to them, placating and pawing affectionately all over them, while he would sit there, ignored entirely. 

None of the women had ever even tried talking to him on their own. It was always either Nappa or Raditz who attempted to turn their attention towards Vegeta, and he could always see the hesitation and then disappointment in their eyes when they would at last look at him. Sawed off, ugly little monkey that he was. 

Nappa hadn't been handsome, but he'd been incredibly tall and powerful looking, broad shouldered and muscular, and Raditz had been much the same, only with an actually handsome face. The women had loved him especially. Compared to those two, Vegeta looked like a child. Even when he'd matured fully, he still looked like a child, slim built, scrawny even, short little legs and arms, the top of his head barely reaching to Nappa or Raditz' waists. 

He'd been asked an embarrassing number of times how old he was, well into his mid and late 20s. Nappa and Raditz asked why they'd brought their son along. Sex workers wanting to make sure they weren't about to fuck a young boy.

The absurd irony of it all, that by that time, Vegeta could have beaten both Nappa and Raditz to hell and back without even breaking a sweat.

Those women needn't have worried anyway. He'd never accepted any of their offers.

His thoughts break apart at the sound of the woman's light laughter and he looks up at her.

She's a little taller than him, he realizes. Maybe a quarter of an inch. Just barely. 

Most of the women he'd encountered in his life had towered over him. Most of the people. Earth women were different though. Most of the ones he'd seen were a little shorter, and he could admit to himself at least that it was a small relief.

He didn't mind Bulma being just a little taller. That was alright. Wasn't much difference.

“You look different with your hair down.” She says, reaching out and smoothing some strands back off his forehead.

Vegeta feels himself stiffen slightly.

Nappa and Raditz had used to tease him about that. Used to say he looked even shorter when his hair was wet, because of the way it lost its shape and fell down his back.

“That hair of yours must add a good foot to your height little man.” He can hear Nappa saying.

“It's not...” he stammers out, hardly sure what he's trying to say, feeling irrationally defensive. “It's not usually...”

He stutters to a stop when she takes his face in her hands, soft and warm against his skin.

“Hey,” she says gently. “it's alright. You look good. You look handsome.” She smiles at him, and he can't remember anyone ever smiling at him like that. The way she does. 

She looks incredible, her hair wet and slicked behind her ears, framing the perfect shape of her face. She's too beautiful for him, he thinks. Could have any man she wanted. Didn't understand why she wanted him. Couldn't help the sick suspicion gnawing at his gut.

Can't find the will to resist though, when she leans in close, puts her mouth on his. Lips come open without even realizing it and he feels her tongue again, a shock of warmth slipping down through his belly. Doesn't think as his arms come up now, needing to hold, to grasp onto something.

Knees feel weak as his arms wrap round her back and she pushes into him, feels the press of her stomach against his erection and he nearly gasps at the sensation which shoots down through his groin.   
Feels so good, warmth and pressure. Presses her body harder against his, and something works through his gums, down into his canines, almost like he's bitten into something overly sweet. Can't help the thick groan which slips from his throat, into her open mouth.

“Let me make you feel good Vegeta...” hears her whisper, voice almost lost in the patter of the water against tile.

And he can feel her hands then, groping, one pressing against his chest, another against his back, sliding down, lower, lower. Feels fingers tracing over his stomach then, others brushing over the remnants of his tail, at the base of his spine, and a jolt works through him so intense he feels his head spin, vision going white a moment.

Sucks in a breathe, and her hand slides down his stomach, past his naval, lower, resting now on his inner thigh, fingers brushing the underside of his penis, and it's too much... too much...

Too much like big, calloused hands pushing him onto his back, pressing down on his chest as he squirms uselessly. Too much like the feel of of those hands, tugging and tearing at his pants, big, meaty fingers brushing along his backside, pushing and prodding, and pressure, pressure, pressure shoving into him. Remembers feeling like when he would eat too much, felt all this pressure inside, painful in his guts, felt like he was going to explode.

Hears a voice, remembers it exactly, remembers the feel of hot breathe against his ear, even as the face is lost to him.

“You take it real good behind little boy. Must be that royal blood. Wonder if you take it as good from the front?”

Remembers the taste. The sickening taste. Bitter and foul. Remembers thick, stiff skin scrapping along his teeth. Remembers choking on it, gagging. Remembers biting down, desperate, awful confusion and fear. Remembers the backhand, hard across the mouth, the world spinning and not much else.

He gasps, pulling away from her, back hitting the wall behind. For a moment blind fear and panic filling his vision, before it clears, and he sees Bulma standing there, look of worry on her face, look of sadness, her hands half reached out to him.

“Vegeta...” she says, and he shakes his head, looking down.

“Can't...” he gasps again. “I can't...”

He catches sight of himself. Fully erect, the head of his penis leaking, and he feels a wash of shame so powerful it feels like he's drowning in it. Pressure, and pain, an awful urge to grab himself and finish it off. But he doesn't. Doesn't move. Can't...

“What is it? What's wrong?” She says, and he can only shake his head, humiliation robbing him of his voice. 

What was wrong with him? Why couldn't he... 

He'd asked her, he'd... Thought he'd wanted this. Dreamed about it, dreamed about her. 

Why then every time she touched him did he think of...

“Vegeta.” Looks up and she's moved closer, standing inches away, and he feels trapped.

Eyes slip to her chest, look at her breasts. Her nipples are hard, like she was also aroused. Body looks so beautiful, water cascading down her stomach, and he follows it with his gaze, down between her legs. Never looked at a woman's sex before. Never touched one. Wants to now. Wants to know what it feels like.

Feels disgusting staring at her like this. 

“What is it?” She asks again quietly, and again he shakes his head.

Can't tell her. 

“... I know that hurts...Vegeta...” She says gently, and she reaches out, cupping his jaw in her palm, thumb smoothing across his cheek, and there's no where to go, back against the wall. “Please, I... I don't know what's happened... I don't know what's happened to you in your life, and I know it's none of my business. You don't have to tell me anything. Alright? I just hope you can trust me maybe. I don't want to hurt you, and I know... I know that's hard right now, the state you're in. I... I want to help relieve you. But I don't want to do anything which you don't want either.”

He stares at her, and he doesn't know. Doesn't know what he wants. Wants her against him again... wants to shove her away and go, wants... wants...

“Do you want to try?” Bulma asks, moves closer still. “We can try together, if you want.”

Head spinning, air feels too hot, knees weak. Hardly knows what he's doing as he nods, doesn't know what he really wants.

Feels like a stupid, ignorant child as she continues speaking soothing words to him, moving closer yet until their bodies are nearly flush together, her hands holding his face, looking him in the eyes. Saying something... saying something about what she'd doing, but he doesn't really hear.

Feels her stand up onto her toes, pressing against him, and then, chest against his, arms wrapping round him, and then...

Warmth and pressure and he hasn't ever felt anything like this before, hasn't ever... Doesn't know what's just happened, only feels a tight warmth, and she's talking again, still holding his face.

“... t's alright...” he hears her voice come back into focus. “You're inside me now. That's what you're feeling.”

And he thinks he must have a shocked look on his face or something, the way she's petting and holding him with her hands, and then she shifts, rocking forward against his hips, and a shock of pleasure more intense than anything he's ever felt shoots up from his groin, straight into his belly, and his mouth falls open in a breathless gasp, tight, warm pressure, something almost achingly soft pushing down around his penis and he can't... he can't... Oh gods...

Keeps talking, keeps telling him it's alright, her voice far away, doing something... doing something to him.

His mind flashes to unwanted things, only can't focus, can't focus on anything suddenly but what he's feeling. Thoughts scatter away to blank nothingness as she moves against him, more warmth and softness and so good... feels so good, can't... can't think, can hardly stand, would collapse but for the wall at his back, holding him up. 

Grasps onto her, desperate panic spilling in his gut, presses his face to her shoulder. Can't take it, too much... Doesn't understand, doesn't know what's happening...

And it's like a wave crashing down over his head, pressure building too high.

World blacks out, spreading through him, so good, feels so good, oh gods, please, feels like... like... 

White exploding behind his eyelids, mouth comes open, thick saliva, can't stop the helpless moan breaking past his teeth, body going weak, limp, trembling with awful, agonizing warmth spreading too much, too much through his belly, through his penis, spreading up into his gums, through his toes. Can't... too much. All over...

Knees give out and he's falling, and she's holding him, arms round his back, pulling him against her, pressure ebbing, fading fast, sharp, almost painful shocks now, too sensitive, hurts now... hurts... 

Feels her hands in his hair, fingers massaging against his scalp. Feels her soft breath against his ear, sweet voice talking to him. Doesn't hear though. Doesn't hear what she's saying. 

Clings back to her, can't lift his face from her neck, doesn't want her to see.

Wants to hold onto her forever like this.

Wants it to always be.


	15. Chapter 15

He doesn't last long; hardly a minute.

Bulma had expected nothing more. It was his first time, as far as she was aware. Wasn't surprised either that she herself experienced no real pleasure; had expected that too. He'd only stood there, hadn't really moved at all. Didn't know how really, she suspected. 

She'd been taken aback at first, when she'd run her hands down across his lower back, and her fingers had brushed over the thick fur at the base of his spine, a protrusion of some kind, and then she'd remembered he'd once had a tail, just like Goku and Gohan. Remembered that it had been cut off, by Yajirobi, of all people, according to Krillin. 

Vegeta's reaction to her touch there had startled her too, the way he'd gasped out and pulled away from her, almost seeming frightened. She doesn't know why. Guesses he was sensitive there, no doubt, but he didn't seem to like it, didn't seem to like being touched there. She would have to be careful to avoid it next time, unless he told her otherwise. 

He would get better at this, she knew, if they continued in the relationship.

It almost surprises her, as she sits there with him, how much she hopes they do continue. How much she hopes it will, eventually, grow into something more than an exchange of sex.

She knows too though that she doesn't know what to expect from him. Doesn't know what any of this even really means to him. He talks so little, expresses what he's feeling hardly at all, except anger and frustration... 

Only the way he's clinging to her now, face buried against her shoulder, arms circled tight across her back... Bulma can't help feeling a sense of hope for the future, and even joy that she could give this to him. Hopes she's right in thinking it was a good thing for him, a positive thing. She thinks so. Thinks he would have shoved her away already, would have run off if it weren't. 

It's hard though. He doesn't say anything. Doesn't look at her. She knows its stupid to assume anything with him.

For a long time they just sit together like that, letting the spray from the shower head wash over them, until the water starts to turn cold, and Bulma starts to shift, a little uncomfortable. He's still inside of her, but she doesn't want to send the wrong impression by rushing him on. 

“You wanna get outta here?” She finally asks, keeping her voice soft against his ear.

He's so still she almost worries, wonders even if maybe he's fallen asleep. But at her question she at last feels him move, lifting his face from her shoulder. 

Still though he doesn't look at her, keeping his eyes fixed beyond her, and she fears maybe he's ashamed, or humiliated in some way. He has no reason to be, and she wants to tell him so, but again, assumptions.

“You doin' alright?” She asks, reaching up, touching her palm to his cheek. She decides to take it as a good sign that he doesn't flinch away from her. And finally, finally his eyes shift to her, those black irises of his startling to look at so close, and she thinks again how incredibly handsome he is. She smiles, and he stares back at her with an almost questioning look, confusion and maybe vague trepidation beneath.

“You did awesome.” She tells him, and she means it. She knows this had been hard for him. Just to trust her had been hard.

“... I... did it correctly?” He asks, and Bulma feels her heart sink a little at the lost tone in his voice. He really didn't know.

“You did enough right.” She tells him honestly. “You'll get better if we...” she trails off, not sure how he'll react to the suggestion suddenly.

His expression twists slightly into that same, frustrated look, and he turns his face away from her.

“You didn't enjoy it.” He says. Not a question, and Bulma knows it's probably foolish to try and lie to him.

“... I didn't not enjoy it.” She offers half-heartedly, worried about saying the wrong thing. “Like I said, you'll get better, and it'll be good for me then too...”

He's tensing up again. She can see it in his body language, his shoulders stiffening, jaw clenching.

“Hey, listen...” she says, reaching out, gently turning his face back towards her. “this is normal. Alright? You can't expect to be any good at it when you've never...” she trails off again, struggling with how to put it so that she won't inadvertently offend him. “It's like... you don't expect to be able to get stronger without training, right?” She says almost excitedly, feeling she'd thought up a perfect analogy. He would understand fighting, and training.

He looks at her skeptically, almost suspiciously, before giving a weak nod.

“Well sex is like that.” She tells him. “Or intercourse. However you want to refer to it. You have to train your body to get used to the feeling of it, and once you do, you'll be able to last longer and do better. Do you see?”

His expression doesn't change for long seconds and Bulma worries that she's only confused him further before finally, again, he nods, eyes sliding away.

He's embarrassed, she guesses, and she wishes he wouldn't be. He did as well as he could. But she supposes, for someone like him, good enough was never going to be.

She wonders if it was always like that for him. Wonders what being an actual prince would really be like, what kind of expectation and pressure that put on someone.

She had always felt what she thought was an abnormal amount of pressure on herself, being the heiress to a multi-billion dollar corporation, and having on her the full expectation that she would, eventually, take over from her father for Capsule Corps department of product development and design. Being a prodigy had been fun, and interesting in a lot of ways. Having that kind of fawning attention and respect for her mind and talent from people had been great. But it had also sucked on a lot of levels too. 

She'd rarely been allowed to be a kid.

She had no idea really what Vegeta's childhood had been like though. She was smart enough to guess it had been extremely hard, that he more than likely had suffered some kind of terrible abuse even, given the things she'd heard him mumble in his sleep, and a few, sickening admissions he'd shared with her; things alone which had made her stomach churn. Knew enough to know it hadn't in any sense of the word been what for most children would be considered normal. Beyond that though, he spoke about nothing.

She thinks, from his behavior, from the absurdly high standards she saw him place on himself, that from the beginning he'd probably been expected to make something great of himself, and much as she hated to psychoanalysis anyone, let alone him, she thought too he saw himself as a failure in that department. That he felt he hadn't lived up to what others had wanted or expected of him at all.

It broke her heart, to think that. To think he couldn't see his own worth. 

He worked so hard. That was the thing. Worked harder than anyone she'd ever seen. Tried with everything he had. That should be enough for anyone. But for him it wasn't. He wanted to be the best so badly, but with Goku around... 

She shakes her head, wanting to focus on something more positive.

They'd had sex. That was the start of some kind of relationship, she guesses.

The thought slips briefly through her mind that she and Vegeta were... together now, maybe? She didn't know. Thinks of how, if they are, she's going to break to news to everyone. Probably best not to worry about that for now. They'd all have a melt down for sure. Well, everyone except Goku and her mother, who was under the impression that Vegeta was the sweetest young man she'd ever met.

“Oh, he's so sweet and shy.” She can hear her mother from just that morning saying to her. “So quiet. Never makes a fuss. I think it's wonderful that you've taken such an interest in him dear. That poor boy needs a friend. I think he's so lonely.”

Her mother wasn't wrong about that. Wasn't wrong about her interest in Vegeta either.

Obviously.

She has no idea how this was going to work, or if it even could work, but hell, she was going to try for it.

“What do you say we dry off, get dressed and go get a snack in the kitchen?” She asks, putting her hands on Vegeta's powerful shoulders. She lifts herself up, getting to her feet, and Vegeta watches her a moment, almost seeming dazed, before a slight flush comes over his cheeks and he looks away, hands coming down over his now flaccid penis. She smiles slightly at the way he tries to cover himself up. It's a bizarre contrast, how modest he is around her at points, and again knowing how filled with violence his life had, up to that point, been. 

She reaches her hand down, offering it to him, and to her shock, after a moment, he takes it, letting her pull him up to his feet.

Another bizarre contrast. Vegeta is a little man. Can't weigh much more than 120 pounds. Has a slim build. It's easy for her to haul him up. Yet she can feel the immense strength in his muscles even as she does. Can feel a physical power which shouldn't be possible in a frame so small. But it's there. He's frighteningly strong.

She lets his hand go once he's up, and silently he follows her out of the shower stall, the two of them drying themselves off and gathering up their clothes.

He dresses quickly, with the efficiency of a soldier readying themselves for barracks inspection, she thinks. There's no leisure in his movement, no wasted motion even. By comparison, she herself flops about, wiggling into her cargo pants and tank top, hopping up and down to get her socks on. He's long since finished, and watches her with his arms crossed, back leaned against the wall.

She looks up at him finally after getting her shoes on, and notices his hair. It's still plainly wet and sagging somewhat, though already starting to regain most of it's shape. Only she can see it's tangled and messy, and she feels a jolt of sympathy for what she realizes must be a real bitch to comb out. It was why she kept her own hair so short. She'd had long hair when she'd been younger, and she'd hated combing it. 

He had just about the thickest hair she'd ever seen, and from what she understood of Saiyan physiology, he couldn't really do much with it beyond what it naturally wanted to do. 

She'd never even thought about how difficult it must be to brush and comb and just keep generally well groomed. But she'd never seen him a single day when it wasn't perfectly so and sticking straight up in that amazing flame shape, and she knew he must have taken great time and care every morning and evening to get it in that condition. His appearance was obviously important to him. When she thought about it, she'd never seen him dressed sloppily either, always clean shaven, and never really unwashed, except when he'd been going for hours in the gravity room, and only immediately after. He always was fast to wash himself following. When she really looked back on it, she realizes that there had, since she'd known him, been an almost obsessive, controlling exactness to the way he kept himself. Like it was one of the few things he could control, and he wasn't giving it up for anything.

She seemed to realize more and more with each new day how little she knew about him, even as she learned something new with it.

“You want me to comb your hair for you?” She asks.

The question seems to break him from his reverie, and he starts, looking up at her.

“... What?” He asks, sounding nearly startled, and Bulma can't tell if he truly hadn't heard her, or if her offer was really so strange to him.

“I asked if you wanted me to comb your hair.” She repeats. “I can tell it must be difficult to comb out on your own. So if you wanted, I could do it for you.”

He stares back at her a moment like he still doesn't understand, lips slightly parted like he wants to ask a question, but doesn't know exactly what.

“You... wish to groom me?” He finally asks, and Bulma has to bite her lip to keep from laughing.

She shrugs, nodding.

“Sure. Why not?”

He blinks, seeming to hesitate, and for a moment Bulma thinks he's going to say no, but then she sees him push off the wall, taking a step toward her, then stopping.

“... If you wish.” He says, and his eyes slide away from her, looking off somewhere distant, before he turns and moves out of the bathroom, into the adjoining bedroom.

His reactions are weird, she thinks. She couldn't tell what he was thinking most of the time. But, she supposes, she was getting used to that too. It was just the way it was with him, and if ever he got a place where he trusted her enough to tell her what it was he was feeling, to tell her at all more about his past, then he was going to get there on his own. Trying to force him would only have the opposite effect.

He was letting her interact with him intimately, and that was huge, in her mind. Probably a bigger sign of trust than she even really knew. 

And so she finds herself smiling as she follows quietly after him, curious even about where things would go from here.

//

Can't sleep.

Keeps thinking about the woman.

Keeps seeing her face, seeing her smile at him, beautiful smile...

Thinking about what it felt like. Different... it had been different than those times... those other times. Hadn't been the same... hadn't been fear there. But too much too. It had been too much, had almost been painful in how good it felt, left him weak in a way he didn't like, could hardly stand, desperate and longing. Felt like he would of done anything at that moment for her. Just to feel her hands on him, would of done anything... Didn't like that feeling. Couldn't leave himself open like that. Not around anyone. 

Thinks about her, wants to reach between his legs and touch himself while thinking about her. Harder... harder than usual to resist that. Can see her naked body, how beautiful it is, water tracing down between her breasts, down her flat stomach, between her legs...

Doesn't realize it 'till he feels his big, rough hand against his penis, and too late then... too late to stop himself.

Rolls over onto his stomach, buries his face in the pillow, shame burning behind his eyes, but not enough... not enough to stop himself as her pulls and jerks, tries desperately to feel what he felt earlier... tries to imagine it's her hands on him, soft, delicate hands.

Bites down on the pillow to muffle his groans, pressing his thumb down over the head, jerks desperately at it. Doesn't know what he's doing. Doesn't feel as good as before, with her. Doesn't feel close to it. Only a small spark of warmth pooling in his belly, and his hand works at his penis faster, trying, trying...

Imagines her face, her body, imagines her hands on him, touching him all over.

The feeling hits, but it's muffled, pale as it spreads limply from his groin through the rest of him and he comes weakly, a pathetic whimper slipping past his teeth, disappearing into the pillow.

Feeling fades fast, left only with sick shame again. Hates himself for how weak he is. Never done that before. Scared that just the thought of her could drive him to such weakness. Doesn't like that. Doesn't know if he likes what she's doing to him.

Lies there, penis limp and shriveled in his hand, feels the awful, sticky warmth of his ejaculation against his stomach. Hates himself. Doesn't want to move. Eyes sting again.

Rubs his face against the pillow, keeps thinking of her.

She was so kind... Didn't understand why she was so kind to him. Didn't even... didn't even get anything from him. Couldn't give her any kind of pleasure. 

Been scared... been scared of what would happen. Confused and scared. Didn't laugh at him though, didn't scream at him. Insider her then, and all that had gone away. All that fear. She'd felt so good, gods... Been so kind. Hadn't even been mad at him after, hadn't seemed disappointed, even though he'd done nothing. Patient and kind.

Too good for him.

Knew that already.

Wanted to spend time with him after, even though she had to be disappointed. Couldn't tell, if she was. Didn't show any of it. Smiled at him still, talked to him, talked to him like he was smart, not just a dumb monkey. 

Groomed his hair. Nobody had ever done that for him but Raditz and Nappa. Had vague memories of Father too, but those were old and far away, hardly remembered anymore. Her delicate hands on his scalp gentle, careful and patient, had taken her time. Never could get his hair to look that good on his own. Felt nice, had almost fallen asleep felt so nice.

Ate a meal with him after, even though he could see her getting tired, could see her lids getting heavy. Could tell she needed to sleep. Had told her she should go to bed, but she'd insisted on staying up with him, talking with him into the early morning hours before finally she'd left to sleep. Asked him questions, seemed really interested... like she cared at all about who he was, where he'd come from. Wanted to know about Vegetasei...

Didn't like to talk about that though. Not much. Hardly remembered it anymore anyway. Just flashes, images. Made him angry sometimes to think about it. Made him forget everything else, couldn't move then, couldn't think, didn't... didn't feel like doing anything sometimes, when he thought about it. Didn't even want to be alive...

Told her a little anyway though. Told her about home... 

Been four years old, last time he'd seen it. Seen the palace... Seen Father... Could remember exactly what it looked like still, somehow. Could remember Father's face perfectly... Remembered what he smelled like... What his voice sounded like... Didn't know how. Just could.

Clamps his lids shut, presses his face harder to the pillow. Shouldn't think about those things. Just make him angry. Make him want to kill...

He pushes himself up finally, can't take all this thinking anymore, can't sleep anyway. Has to move, to do something...

Train... needs to train more. Can't let Kakarott get farther ahead. Was already so much stronger anyway. Didn't understand how that was. Didn't understand why. Was supposed to be him. 

Father had told him. He remembers. Told him he'd been born with the highest battle rating of any Saiyan in their recorded history. Had more potential than any Saiyan. Told him he would become the legendary Super Saiyan. Told him...

But how... how?!

How had Kakarott done it when he couldn't? What was it he had... 

Vegeta doesn't understand. Doesn't know. He'd trained so hard... pushed himself to the limit, past the point of breaking so many times, pushed himself nearly to death so many times.

A Saiyan grew stronger with each battle fought. He'd known that his whole life. Had experienced it more times than he could really remember. He'd fought hundreds of battles since he was a child. Had been nearly killed in many of those... 

He should have achieved the power of a Super Saiyan by now. He should have. Had the talent, had the ability. 

Kakarott wasn't anything special. Not that he could see. Strong, of course. Physically strong. Had felt that during their own battle. Felt Kakarott grab onto him with immensely powerful hands. Had known he wouldn't be able to break away without use of his own ki. Could admit Kakarott was physically stronger than he was. And so what? Nappa had been too. So had Raditz. Neither of them had been a match for him.

And Kakarott's technique was so sloppy, so forced, it seemed to Vegeta. Constantly left himself open, porous defense, reckless, wasted movement, careless and dumb... Should have been able to beat him. Didn't understand why he couldn't. Couldn't figure out how Kakarott had flipped him onto his back those several days ago, when he'd been the one with the upper hand just moments before. Didn't think Kakarott had better speed. Could see what the bastard was doing... Most of the time anyway. 

Even when he could though it was like... he would always react too late. Would bring his defense up only after the hit had landed. And when it did, the power behind it...

There had only ever been a handful of opponents Vegeta had faced in his life who really scared him.

Frieza. Of course Frieza. 

When he'd been younger, Zarbon. Had used to dread sparring sessions with Zarbon, when he'd been a boy. But as he'd matured into adulthood, he hadn't been frightened of the green skinned son of a bitch anymore. Knew, eventually, one day, he would surpass him in power. 

Captain Ginyu and his band of zealot idiots. He'd been scared of them. Had been scared of them still on Namek, until he'd gotten beaten up and smacked around so many times that he'd come back with a greater boost in power than he'd ever experienced in his life. Knew than he could take them. 

Tries not to think about how Kakarott had saved him then though. Tries not to think of the shame he'd felt. Woulda' been killed by Racoom if Kakarott hadn't...

He shakes his head, humiliation a familiar burn in his gut.

Kakarott...

He was scared of Kakarott.

That fucking bastard knew it too. Didn't know how someone so dumb could see that in him, but he could. Saw right through him. 

Was scared that first time, when he'd seen Kakarott smack Nappa around like it was nothing. Never seen anyone do that to Nappa except Frieza and Zarbon. Felt doubt then, for the first time. Thought about losing. Realized it was possible.

He'd come to this backwater planet so sure. Couldn't understand then how Raditz had been killed by such pathetic weaklings. Knew for him and Nappa, they would prove no kind of challenge at all. Easy work, as Nappa had used to say. Been so sure. Cocky in that sureness, almost happy. Didn't get to feel that much, close under Frieza's watch. Didn't get to flaunt his power, his talent. Didn't get to show off. Didn't get to be so confident in his ability to win. It had been fun, at first. Making those losers squirm, seeing the fear and panic in their eyes, knowing they were faced against someone so much stronger than they were. Knowing they couldn't win.

Thought it served them right, for doing what they had to Raditz. Served them right to be afraid. Served them right to die. 

Been so sure. Had wanted Kakarott to come, at first. Had wanted to make him pay for killing Raditz. Wanted to make him suffer. Thought about making him watch as he killed his half-breed son. Take his family away, the same as he'd done to him.

Stupid. Shouldn't have fucked around. Shouldn't have been so cocky. Knew better than that. Knew better than to treat a combat situation like it was a game. Should've just killed them all and tried to find those dragon ball things after. 

Had let the high he was feeling from being in control get the better of him. Had never really been in control before that. 

Stupid.

And then Kakarott had come, had brushed Nappa aside easily as he might a child, and Vegeta had been scared. 

Been more scared when they started fighting. Remembers the sickening, dread realization as they'd clashed, that Kakarott was more powerful. Was stronger. Was going to win. Fear and shame that another Saiyan would defeat him, would kill him, probably, and then desperation... panic...

That shame sits in him still, an awful, burning coal in the pit of him. Won't ever go away. And now Kakarott was so much stronger. Didn't seem any hope of catching up to him. Thought before there was. Didn't now. Not really. Doubt and fear. Knew if they fought again, he would be slaughtered, easily as Frieza would have slaughtered him. Easier. Kakarott had beaten Frieza, after all.

Let Vegeta live. Let him live as some kind of mercy. Hated that more than anything. Wanted to die, when he thought of it. Wishes, sometimes, that Kakarott had just killed him. Thinks it would be easier than this.

Pathetic. Pathetic little prince that he was. Wasn't the prince of anything anymore. Kakarott was the only other living Saiyan left, besides him, and he saw Vegeta as nothing. Easy work. That was all he was to Kakarott. Easy work.

He pushes himself from the mattress onto his feet.

Gotta do something, he thinks. Gotta train. Gotta try. Can't let Kakarott win. Not like this. Have to at least try.

Reaches up, digs the heels of his palms into his eyes. Stupid, useless stinging. Ignores the wetness on his lashes. Stupid.

Gotta train. Gotta get stronger.

Doesn't know why though anymore. Not really.

Who the fuck was going to care anymore if he even did?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, massive thank you's to all my readers and supporters! You guys mean so much, and inspire me so much! Hope you continue to enjoy and please let me know your thoughts!


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey again everybody! Another chapter! Again, thank you for all your support, and I hope you enjoy this one. It's a little different in that it's told from another character's perspective. As always, if you have the chance, please leave me your thoughts!

Bulma, Krillin thinks, is absolutely freakin' insane.

He can't quite keep himself from saying so aloud after what she's just told them.

“Are you nuts?!” He half shouts, and immediately regrets it at the withering look she gives him.

“No, I'm not.” She says, hands held at her hips, glaring at him in obvious displeasure, and Krillin is reminded not for the first time in his life why he should never cross Bulma.

Still, Vegeta?! If there was anyone scarier than her, it was that psychotic devil.

That fact was currently rendering Krillin's filter entirely broken.

“He's a total psycho!” He says. “Bulma, he's crazy!”

“He isn't.” She says back, her voice dropping into that eerie calm it did when she was really mad. “You don't know him like I do Krillin. I've been living with him for more than a year. He isn't... he isn't as bad as you think he is.”

Krillin can hardly believe what he's hearing coming out of her mouth, and his eyes slide away from her, across to the other side of the lawn, and he sees him sitting there. Vegeta. Partially hidden by the tree he's sat against. Too far away to hear them. Probably. Krillin hopes.

He nearly shivers just at the sight of him. God, he was always just hanging around, it seemed like, but always apart. Always standing off somewhere by himself, like a total creep. Krillin wishes he would just disappear permanently. Thought they'd all be better off if he did. Was convinced more than ever that Bulma certainly would be.

She was insane, if what she said was true, and Krillin didn't see why she would lie about something like that.

Going with Vegeta. As in, going out with him, dating him. As in, they were supposedly together now. Like a couple. Like a romantic couple. 

That was completely crazy, no other way to put it.

“No, he's probably worse.” Krillin mumbles to himself, and he gets a slap upside the head for his trouble.

“That's great Bulma. I... I'm happy for the both of you then.” Gohan says timidly, and Krillin side eyes him. Traitor. 

Bulma smiles at Gohan, like he's a perfect little angel.

“That's sweet of you Gohan. Thank you.”

“Didn't he try to kill you?” Krillin asks, feeling resentment leak into his initial reaction now. “Multiple times?”

He cringes back when Bulma gives him another death glare, fully expecting another smack. But instead he watches as a moment later she seems to wilt, a loud sigh issuing forth from her lips, eyes rolling upward.

“Look, why can't you...” she starts, then stops. “Why don't you two try going over and talking to him for a little while? I threw this party and invited all of you guys over because I was hoping...”

“Oh no! No, no, no, no...” Krillin cuts her off quickly, pushing back in his chair and standing from the table. “I'm not gonna talk to that lunatic! He hates me anyway! I'd be lucky if he didn't try to take my head off!”

“Krillin, shut up.” Bulma says, voice that scary calm again. To his embarrassment, he shuts right down. 

“I invited all of you over because I was hoping I could help him make some actual friends. He's got no one. And you group of fucking assholes treating him like a leper isn't fucking helping! Don't you think if he was going to blow the planet up or try to kill us all, he would have done it by now!? It isn't like he doesn't have the power anymore. He isn't an animal. Isn't a devil. Isn't some piece of emotionless meat. I know it makes it easier for you to think of him as some sort of monster, instead of an actual, flesh and blood person with thoughts and feelings, but guess what, that's exactly what he is. And maybe if you actually tried being a little nice to him, you would realize that! He's been through a lot of shit in his life Krillin. More than any of us know, I'm certain. It isn't fair to judge him the way you have without even knowing what his life's been like.”

For a moment, Krillin doesn't know at all what to say. Can only stare up at Bulma as she finally cuts herself off, anger plainly visible on her face, her body nearly vibrating with it.

And almost a feeling of shame comes over Krillin then. Almost guilt.

It was true, in a way. He'd been anything but friendly towards Vegeta since he'd been brought back to life, the few times he'd even tolerated being in the same vicinity as the Saiyan. Had forcibly made himself forget how, back on Namek, all of them would have perished multiple times had Vegeta not been there to save their assess. Sure, his motivations had been entirely selfish, but still... Himself, Gohan, Bulma, Piccolo, Dende... all of them would have died if it hadn't been for Vegeta. If Vegeta hadn't held off Ginyu's thugs for as long as he had... if he hadn't held off Frieza for as long as he had. Hadn't himself died in holding Frieza off...

Whatever his motivations had been, it didn't change the fact that he'd saved their lives more than once.

Krillin supposes he deserved some kind of chance for that. And it was true too, what Bulma said. There hadn't really been anything stopping Vegeta from destroying this entire planet and all of them with it over the course of the last year and more. Goku hadn't even gotten back here until about a month ago, and none of them were strong enough to have put up any kind of a real fight against Vegeta if in that intervening time he'd decided to kill all of them.

Krillin doesn't know what was motivating Vegeta now. Didn't know why he hadn't decided they were all disposable. It was just such a bizarre contrast to who he'd seen when the Saiyan had first come to Earth. Vegeta had been so cold, so malicious, deriving such obvious pleasure from their pain and fear. Watching in naked amusement as that big son of a bitch he'd come here with knocked them around like a child would a rag doll. 

Now, whenever Krillin saw Vegeta, he was, by comparison, so quiet and subdued. So seemingly unhappy. Krillin can't remember seeing him smile even once since he'd been brought back. None of that psychotic energy or intensity he'd seen when they first met.

Still, he can't understand Bulma's apparent fondness for him either.

Even if he wasn't trying to kill them all, Vegeta was still unjustifiably rude and aloof and, in Krillin's estimation, ungrateful. Sure, he never made any effort to talk to the Saiyan, but that street went two ways. Vegeta never made any attempt to talk to any of them either. Always standing or sitting off in some corner, his body language practically screaming “don't come near me”, juts like now. Krillin isn't sure what Bulma expected exactly.

“I'll try talking to him.” Gohan says suddenly, and Krillin's mouth nearly comes open, turning towards the boy in shock.

“That's awesome Gohan!” Bulma exclaims, clapping her hands together. “I knew I could count on you. Just try having a nice conversation with him. I know he can seem a little rough and rude, but he's really not a bad guy deep down. He just... hasn't had a lot of experience socializing, I think. He needs some help.”

“Sure. Of course.” Gohan nods, as if he really understands. 

As usual, Krillin's the one left looking like an asshole.

Gods help him, how did he always end up in these insane situations? Why couldn't she have asked Yamcha, or Master Roshi, or Piccolo? They were all here too. Or Goku? Goku could at least handle himself if Vegeta suddenly got all murdery. 

“... Alright.” He forces himself to say, not wanting to be the odd man out. “I'll talk to him too.”

He isn't expecting the crushing hug Bulma catches him up in, practically lifting him off the ground as she squeezes him to her chest.

“Thank you Krillin!” She says, and he can hear the almost painful relief in her voice, and only feels more guilty with it. “I know it's asking a lot. I know Vegeta can be scary. So it means a lot to me that you're willing to try with him.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure...” he says weakly, trying to push out of her hold. 

“I'll got get you boys something to drink. Just go on over and say hello. He's right over there.”

She gestures towards the tree on the other side of the lawn that Vegeta is still hiding behind, before she walks off without another word, leaving him and Gohan to face the beast alone.

//

The first thing Krillin notices about Vegeta as he and Gohan approach him is how completely uncomfortable he looks.

He can practically see the Saiyan's entire frame shaking with how tense he's holding himself, arms crossed over his chest so tightly, Krillin is surprised he isn't crushing his own ribs. He turns his face aside and pretends he doesn't see the two of them walking towards him.

The second thing Krillin notices, and it's what he always notices about Vegeta, is how small he is. 

It had shocked him the first time the Saiyan had come to Earth, and it shocked him still, for knowing how much power he actually possessed.

Krillin was even smaller, of course. If Vegeta was always having to look up at other adults, Krillin often found himself having to look up at children. Gohan was as tall as him now, and would be taller within a few more months, he knew.

But Krillin's size at least corresponded somewhat with his level of power. He was strong for a human, sure. But compared to Goku and Gohan and Piccolo, he wasn't anything. He was weak, and he knew it. All those guys could look at him and match up his petite stature with his threat level.

Not Vegeta.

Vegeta looked weak. 

Well, maybe not weak. He was stout and strong looking, for a little guy. Had relatively broad shoulders and thick calves. But you would never take a glance at him and think he could beat the living shit out of guys ten times his size without even breaking a sweat. He was thin, and short. Small. 

When Krillin had first lain eyes on him and that big idiot he'd come to Earth with, he'd automatically assumed the big guy had been the more powerful one, and the one in charge. It just made sense. The guy had been huge. Must have been almost seven feet tall. Remembers Vegeta's head barely coming up to the guy's waist. Remembers thinking Vegeta had looked like a child next to him. Hell, had thought Vegeta was a child, until he'd gotten a closer look at him, and seen his face was too mature to be a boy's. 

Remembers the horror he'd felt when he'd realized the big one was the lackey, and he'd been so much stronger than all of them. Remembers the sickening dread he'd felt as he'd realized the big one was scared of Vegeta, and he'd been certain then they were all going to die.

They would have, if Goku hadn't shown up in time.

Vegeta was a contradiction. 

Quiet and withdrawn, but viciously violent and dangerous. Physically tiny, but with power enough to reduce the entire planet to dust in the blink of an eye. 

Krillin thought he was spooky as hell, and honestly, didn't want a damn thing to do with him.

But he'd agreed to this, and he couldn't back out now without looking like a straight up coward.

Plus, Bulma would probably kill him.

Gohan was far more brave, and by his seeming attitude as they approach the other Saiyan, far more upbeat about the prospect of talking.

“Hi!” He greets when they're finally close enough, and it's pathetic, Krillin thinks, the way he finds himself hiding behind a six and a half year old, peeking over his shoulder at the demon sitting at their feet.

Vegeta doesn't look at them, but Krillin can see his jaw clenching, his arms wrapping tighter over his chest. He looks, for all the world, like he's trying to disappear.

“Bulma said we should come over and talk to you, so here we are!” Gohan goes on, seemingly undeterred, and Krillin doesn't know how he can be so brave, or so positive.

Vegeta had tried to kill him too, several times. Had beaten him nearly to death that first time... Hadn't ever been nice to Gohan on any level...

“... Go away.” Vegeta finally speaks, his voice that deep, low tone which sent shivers down Krillin's spine. Another contradiction. Vegeta's voice was so quiet. Didn't line up at all with how dangerous he was.

Gohan was either absurdly courageous or absurdly stupid, Krillin thinks with dismay, as he ignores Vegeta's demand and instead plops down on the grass in front of him, crossing his legs and leaning forward.

Krillin thinks he's gonna be sick as Vegeta finally turns to look at them and his eyes flash with naked, murderous intent. Oh gods, save them.

Again, Gohan either doesn't notice, or doesn't care.

He starts talking.

“It must be cool living in such a big house, huh?” He says. “Bulma's Dad is the richest person on the planet. Did you know that? Which I guess means she is too. Me and my family live up in the Mountains, away from the city. That's great too! Everything there is so beautiful. But it's so far away, and it takes a long time to drive into the city. So that kinda sucks. It's good for training though, and studying! No one bothers you there. Mom's always makin' me study real hard. And all Father ever wants to do is train. I don't like it so much though. Don't tell him I told you that, by the way. I kinda enjoy my school work more, actually. I don't really like fighting, but I guess it's important, especially with these androids coming, or whatever they are. I heard Bulma made a gravity room for you to train in! That's cool! You must be getting a lot stronger...”

Krillin nearly has a heart attack as Vegeta suddenly reaches out and buries his fingers in the front of Gohan's shirt. 

Oh God, oh God, oh God... He needs to do something. Needs to stop him before he...

Vegeta shoves Gohan onto his back, the push not even very hard, before crossing his arms over his chest again and looking away.

Krillin's knees give out from the relief alone, sinking into the grass, feeling like he's going to puke.

Gohan blinks up at the sky, a confused look on his face.

Krillin had thought Vegeta was going to kill him. God... He'd thought...

“... Leave me alone.” Vegeta says. “I don't want to talk to you.”

Gohan pushes himself back up, Krillin swallowing past the sudden dryness of his throat.

“S-sure, if you want us to...” he starts to say, but Gohan cuts him off.

“But Bulma threw this party so you could make friends!” He says, and Krillin swears, if they make it out of this alive, he's never coming to another one of Bulma's party's ever again. “You've gotta at least try!”

Vegeta's face visibly tightens.

“You're as stupid as your idiot father. Stupid, pampered little brat.” He says. “I told you to go away.”

“No need to repeat yourself again!” Krillin starts, pushing himself to his feet. “We're goi...”

“You don't have to name call.” Again Gohan cuts him off. “We're just trying to be nice.”

And again Vegeta looks at them, his eyes lingering on Gohan a moment before shifting up to Krillin, and he can feel the blood drain out of his face as Vegeta smirks at him.

“Why?” He asks abruptly.

“... Huh?” Gohan asks after a moment, and Krillin shares his confusion. Vegeta's gaze, mercifully, shifts back to Gohan.

“Why are you being nice? Because the woman asked you to?” Vegeta says, and Krillin can hear that viciousness starting to crawl into his tone now. “What makes you think I would ever want the friendship of two useless weaklings like you in the first place?”

Krillin can feel his own anger starting to seep in beneath his fear, his mouth twisting into a frown.

This is exactly why he didn't want to come over here in the first place. Exactly why he couldn't begin to fathom what Bulma saw in this jerk. Why she would want to be with someone like this. He was such a fucking asshole.

“Hey, these two useless weaklings saved your sorry life back on Namek, if you remember correctly!” His mouth shoots off before he can think better of it. He instantly regrets it as Vegeta's eyes flash back to him, and he sees the open fury in them a moment before they recede back into that blank expression.

He nearly pisses himself when in a single, fluid motion, Vegeta gets to his feet, moving around Gohan to come stand directly in front of him.

He puts his hands on his hips, bending at the waist as he leans over Krillin, a vicious, cruel smirk spreading across his lips.

“Is that right?” He asks, voice threateningly low. “Is that what you were doing when Frieza was beating me to death? I seem to recall you cowering in a corner somewhere, scared for your own sorry life, praying for your precious savior to come and rescue you...”

Krillin cringes away from him, terrified, wishing desperately that he'd never opened his stupid God damned mouth. 

“Hey, come on Vegeta, don't do that.” Gohan starts, getting to his own feet, and a moment later, he's got his hands around one of Vegeta's wrists, trying to tug him back, away from Krillin.

Vegeta straightens, glaring down at Gohan a moment before tearing his wrist free, his face twisting into a snarl.

“Don't touch me!” He growls, and he steps back, away from both of them suddenly, eyes shifting back and forth between them with suspicion. Mistrust.

Krillin stumbles back a step, ready to bolt, and he can see the apprehension in Gohan now too. 

Vegeta was insane. Violent, unpredictable. None of this had been a good idea. He has no damned idea what Bulma had been...

“Who's thirsty!?” Bulma's cheery voice breaks suddenly into his spinning thoughts, his eyes shifting from the mad Saiyan, seeing her coming towards them from the direction of the house, a tray filled with what looked like tall glasses of Lemonade carried in her hands.

She's smiling brightly, hopefully at him, here eyes shifting then to Gohan, then Vegeta as she reaches them beneath the tree.

“Are you boys having a good conversation?” She asks, completely oblivious, and Krillin nearly rolls his eyes at her naivety. 

She isn't given long to hold to that particular delusion though, as Vegeta abruptly lashes out, smashing the tray of drinks from her hands, sending the whole pile shattering to the ground.

Bulma yelps in shock, her hands coming up to her mouth, and Krillin doesn't think, Gohan either, apparently, as they move in unison in front of her.

He has no idea what they're going to do if Vegeta decides to attack. Run, and try to find Goku. That was their only hope.

Only he needn't have worried, he guesses, as Vegeta does nothing but give them all a look of undiluted hatred, before he rockets off the ground, into the air, the blast from his explosion of power enough to knock them all on their asses.

Krillin can hardly believe the speed, as less than a moment later, the Saiyan in nothing but a prick of black in the distance.

A moment more, and Krillin can't see him at all.

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

“Oh good, you're here!”

Frieza claps his hands together in that gratingly feminine delight he often displays at his most sadistic moments, and Vegeta grits his teeth, keeping his eyes fixed on the floor as he kneels, hearing the shift of Nappa and Raditz behind him, assuming the same subservient position.

His hair is still wet and tangled from the bath, having had no time to properly dry and groom it. Zarbon had said twenty minutes, and they all knew enough to know a single second more would have been grounds enough to have all their hides whipped bloody.

Whatever it was Frieza wanted, Vegeta wishes desperately he would just say it and let them go.

He feels brittle... weak. Almost dizzy. Every moment spent with the tyrant is like this now. Fear of the unknown. Dread filled anticipation. He can hardly stand it anymore. Feels sick all the time.

“After the state Zarbon told me he found you in, I thought for certain you three would be late, but here you are! Right on time! Just like the good little pet monkey's you are!”

Vegeta can hear Nappa huff in helpless frustration behind him.

It was particularly difficult for the General, he knew, to take those kinds of insults.

He had been the head of the Saiyan army. Had been a strong and proud warrior for the greater majority of his life. 

To be reduced to being a bodyguard for a lone child, and seeming, in his eyes, to routinely fail in that single, simple duty... It was more than Nappa could bear sometimes, Vegeta was sure.

“Tell me Vegeta, how are things coming along for you and your little friends?” Frieza goes on, voice sickly sweet, and Vegeta wants to grind his stupid, white face into dust. “Staying out of trouble, I presume?”

Vegeta swallows past the dryness in his throat, giving a single, stiff nod.

“Yes, my Lord.” He says weakly. “Things are well.”

Hated lying like that. Felt dirty. Felt like a coward.

“Good, good. It pleases me to hear that.” Frieza goes on glibly. 

“Now... you're probably wondering why I've called the three of you here on such short notice.” He continues after a long pause, and there's something in Frieza's voice now. Something which sends a shock of dread down Vegeta's spine. Doesn't like it. Doesn't like the pleasure he hears just beneath the surface. “Well, I'm afraid I have some bad news.”

Vision swims, head pounding. Fear. Sick fear. 

This was it, Vegeta thinks. Frieza was finally going to lay down his punishment for his fuck up all those weeks ago. Was finally going to make him pay. Was going to do it in front of Nappa and Radtiz. Was going to...

“Your king... Vegeta, your father...” Frieza says, cutting the boys spiraling thoughts dead. Voice laced in that false regret he sometimes used. False pity. Fear, fear, horror and fear. What was he... what was... “... sadly was killed earlier this week, during a routine purge mission on a small planet in the Northern quadrant.”

No.

That...

That wasn't right. No. That wasn't...

Couldn't be. Couldn't... couldn't... Father was... Father was coming for him. Father was coming to rescue him. Couldn't be dead. Couldn't. Couldn't. Father couldn't be dead. He was... he was coming... He'd promised. He'd promised...

“You have my condolences child.” Frieza talking again, voice sounds far away. Not real. None of this was real. Just a nightmare, or a... a lie, a trick. Couldn't be real. “Such a pity, for a boy so young to lose a father. And I know how much you admired him Vegeta...”

Doesn't hear what else he's saying. Doesn't know. Doesn't care. The fucker was lying. He was lying. Lying! Father wouldn't die. Not like that. Not before he came for him, before he... Wouldn't just leave him here with Frieza...

Eyes flash, room coming into focus again. Hears Nappa and Raditz yelling something, can't make it out. Hazy red over his vision. Sees Zarbon and Dodoria flanking Frieza. Sees Zarbon, smirking at him, smiling. Laughing.

Lies. Hate and lies and he can't... he can't.. 

Red haze explodes, thoughts melting, burning, burning, burning hate all that's left. Wants to kill. Kill, kill, kill. Wants to kill everybody.

“YOU LIE!” He screams, and hardly recognizes his own voice, broken and fractured apart.

Doesn't think, doesn't know. Doesn't care who Frieza is. Doesn't care how strong. Kill him. He'll kill him for... for spilling such filth, such lies, kill him for all of it. For ever daring to think he could enslave their people, thinking he could rule them, thinking he could take that right from Father... from him... 

Feels his power explode out of him. Feels himself launch from the floor. Hears Nappa screaming his name behind him. Doesn't care. Doesn't care anymore.

For a moment, there's a flash of pure shock across Frieza's face, in the instant before Vegeta crashes head first into him, burying his skull into the tyrant's abdomen, a small gasp escaping Frieza's lips at the impact.

For a moment, Vegeta feels some small measure of pride.

It lasts nothing beyond that.

Frieza's gasp slides into laughter, even as Vegeta lets loose a barrage of punches and kicks, hitting the tyrant with all his desperate fury and hatred, each blow punctuated by his helpless cries, trying... trying so hard to just hurt the bastard, to do anything... 

“My, my... would you look at this!” Frieza exclaims, voice fully amused as at last he throws up his defense, blocking Vegeta's next hit, and then his next, and his next... until Vegeta finds he can't land a single blow at all.

Still, he keeps trying. Can't give up. Can't let the son of a bitch get away with... with...

Vision starts to blur, hated tears filling his eyes, and he shoves them back. Won't do that. Won't cry. Not in front of him. 

He screams, frustration and rage, ki rising higher, leaking out of him rapidly as he tries desperately to land a blow. Not fast enough though. Not strong enough.

Frieza keeps laughing, saying something.

“The little ape has spirit, you have to give him that!” He says. Sighs, blocking Vegeta's attacks with hardly any attention paid. Like it's a game. A silly game to him. “But I grow bored with it already. Zarbon...”

“Of course, my Lord.” Zarbon's voice, but Vegeta hardly hears it. Can feel himself getting tired, arms and legs harder to move, can't give up, can't... Father needs him to, Father expected...

Flash of green from his periphery, and it's all the warning he gets.

Feels a blow like a pipe of iron against his temple. World spins a moment, vision doubling out. Feels his power drain in an instant from him, snuffing out. Feels his body go stiff, eyes roll up, black crowding in fast round the edges of his sight.

Can't give up, he thinks, and can feel his legs betray him.

Papa, he thinks, before the world fades away completely.


	17. Chapter 17

He wakes to the sound of hushed voices above him, and a familiar world of pain.

Oblivion in that pain. He's been here countless times. Almost comfort in it, for how it drowns out any thought. Focuses on it. Holds onto it. Knows, somewhere, there's danger in remembering now.

Doesn't last though. Never does. Slips through his hold like sand through his fingers, and all of it comes rushing back in with merciless, sickening clarity.

Wasn't true. Couldn't be. Couldn't be.

Only he knows it is. Deep in his heart, he's known it for a long time. 

He'd only gotten very good at lying to himself.

Father was dead. 

Father was dead, and he wasn't coming for him. Wasn't coming to rescue him. Wasn't coming to bring him home.

He allows himself to acknowledge that truth for the first time, and suddenly it's like he can't breathe. 

Hot tears flood his eyes. Can't stop them. Doesn't even try. Doesn't try to stop the choked sob which catches in his throat and comes out a useless whimper.

Hurts so much. Oh gods, it hurts so much.

He presses his face against the hard mattress beneath him, hardly noticing the sharp pain which lances up through his jaw, throbbing in his temples. Hardly tastes the thick copper coating his tongue, or feels the dried blood cracking and tugging at the skin down the side of his face.

“He's awake.” Hears Raditz say above him, voice quiet, like he's scared Vegeta will hear him. Doesn't know why it matters any more. Doesn't know why any of it matters.

Presses his face harder against the mattress. Doesn't want to be here. Doesn't want to see them. To talk, say anything. Nothing to say. 

Father was dead. Dead.

Frieza killed him. Vegeta wasn't stupid enough to believe the lie the tyrant told about him being killed on mission. It was Frieza who did it. 

“Vegeta,” Nappa now, hears the big man kneel down beside the cot, feels big, rough hands touch gently against the back of his head, thick fingers curling over, resting against his forehead. “hey...”

Vegeta doesn't answer. Refuses to move. Doesn't want to. Doesn't ever want to get up again.

“Vegeta, hey, turn over. Lemme look at your eyes. I need to see if you got a concussion or not.”

Fingers curl into the covers, grasping desperately. Doesn't want to turn over. Doesn't want to look at Nappa. At anyone. Another, pathetic sob claws up his throat, and he crushes his face down, trying to muffle the noise.

“Hey Nappa, give him a moment, alright?” Raditz says.

Hears Nappa sigh, hand pulling away.

Should be embarrassed, Vegeta thinks. Should be ashamed of himself.

Can't bring himself to care now though. Doesn't matter anyway. 

Minutes pass, Nappa and Raditz lingering beside him, saying nothing, and he can't stop crying, keeping his face pressed down, biting down on the material of the blanket to keep his pitiful whimpering quiet. Wishes they would just go away.

Doesn't know how long it is before he has no more tears to fill his eyes. Before the suffocating pain dulls to a removed and utter emptiness, and he just lies there, mind blank and dead.

Raditz is there at some point, knelt down beside him, fingers combing through his hair, voice gentle and soothing as he talks to him, saying something. 

“Vegeta, listen... hey, I know... I know you don't care right now, but you gotta let Nappa check you out. You took a hard blow from that fucking piece of shit Zarbon, and... and we're supposed to ship out tomorrow for a purge, finally. We gotta make sure you're alright.”

Raditz was right. He doesn't care. Doesn't fucking care. Just wants to be left alone. Wants to fade away into nothing. Wishes... fucking wishes he'd never been born.

He doesn't say anything. Doesn't resist as Raditz slips his hands under him and picks him up, laying him down on his back.

His face lists to the side, eyes staring blankly. Doesn't really see anything. Doesn't feel anything now. Doesn't care.

Nappa fills his view. Has a small light, shines it in his eyes.

“Hey little man, can you follow the light for me with your eyes?” He asks, and Vegeta blinks, not moving. “Vegeta... C'mon man. You gotta try. You gotta...”

“... You knew.” Vegeta says, and his voice sounds dead to his own ears. Hardly recognizes it as his own.

Nappa's voice trails off, and Vegeta's eyes move to him, staring at his stricken expression.

“You knew.” He repeats. “You lied to me about it.”

“Vegeta, I didn't...” Nappa starts to say, and Vegeta pushes himself up, ignoring the way the room spins in sickening circles, threatening to make him ill.

“How long?” He talks over the older Saiyan. “How long have you known?”

“Vegeta...”

“How long have you known Father was dead Nappa!?” Vegeta half screams, voice breaking apart.

Nappa's face falls in resignation, turning away a moment, and Vegeta wants to kill him. Thinks why should Nappa be alive and Father dead? Thinks that wasn't fair.

“I didn't know.” He finally says, turning back to Vegeta, features lined in stress and misery. “I suspected, but I didn't know. I swear to you...”

Not good enough. All those times... all those times Nappa told him Father was coming for him, all those times he lied right to his face and knew it, knew it deep down the same as Vegeta did too.

Vegeta can feel his own features harden, a vicious, ugly fury burning in his chest.

“... I hate you.” He breathes, voice barely above a whisper, and can feel that rage burning him up now. Can't control it. Can't stand it. Power burning in his veins, too much... too much of it.

All he sees is the white of Nappa's eyes widening in shock as he launches himself from the bed, attacking his guardian with deadly intent, his voice pouring out of him in a helpless scream of rage and pain and hatred.

Ki surges out of him in a wave, blowing furniture and objects away and apart as he smashes his fist into Nappa's teeth, turns in the air, slamming his shin against Nappa's neck, and it's enough to make the big man go down. Vegeta follows after, falling on him, raining down blows. Sees red and hate and needs to kill... needs to kill somebody... anybody...

“Vegeta, stop!” Hears Raditz cry, feels Raditz' hands on him, trying to pull him off, doesn't think, only reacts, kill, kill, kill. Turns on the older boy, an animal snarl tearing from his lips. Sees Raditz rear back from him, only too slow, too slow. Vegeta lashes out, grabs hold of him, grabs hold of his face, crushing down, destroying.

Sees Raditz' eye huge with fear and panic, hears his muffled voice screaming out, hands scrabbling, grabbing at his own, trying to pry them loose. Doesn't stop. Wants to kill. And it isn't Raditz anymore then. Isn't Nappa. Someone else. Some faceless man beneath his grip, some enemy to be destroyed. Hand grips tighter, power coursing through, feels the bone underneath begin to shift and bend towards cracking, feels the struggle begin to lessen, body under his hand going limp. Kill, kill, kill...

“VEGETA!”

Powerful hands grab him from behind, tearing him from Raditz and tossing him across the room. Crashes into a wall. World explodes in white and spinning, dizzy, so dizzy. Tries to stand back up, can't, can't see right. Ki fizzles and pops around him, surging violent, and then goes out like a light switched off.

Crashes to his knees, and he feels his strength drain out of him like water, with it the red haze, and he's left again empty and hollow and dead inside. Head slumps down to his chest, eyes fixing blank at nothing.

Hears Nappa and Raditz. Hears Raditz breathing too heavy, hears him crying. Nappa saying something to him, doesn't know what. Doesn't matter. Doesn't care.

Father was dead.

Father left him. Left him here. 

Abandoned him.

Didn't matter.

Nothing mattered anymore. Nothing...

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Rock crumbles and breaks to powder with the impact of his blow, fissures racing out across the expanse of the cliff sides facade, and a moment later, the entire outcropping comes crashing down around him, boulders the size of houses cratering the earth, barely missing him. Doesn't move. Doesn't matter anyway.

Seething rage boils just beneath the surface, threatening to spill over, and he needs to control it. Needs to or he'll... he'll...

Doesn't know what he'll do. Wants to blow this entire planet to ashes, right now. Wants to kill everyone on it.

… Not everyone. Not the woman. Doesn't want her dead, doesn't think. 

The rest don't matter. Doesn't care about them.

Except maybe... would hate to kill Kakarott like that. Wants to beat him in combat first, then kill him. Wants to prove to him once and for all who the most powerful Saiyan is. Wants...

He'd be the last then. Truly the last of his kind. No one else left.

Doesn't like the thought of that. Doesn't like the odd, sick emptiness he feels in the pit of his stomach at the thought.

Kakarott's brat son didn't count. Was a half-breed abomination anyway. Hated the little brat. Hated him. Hated that he didn't even fully understand what he was, what kind of power he had...

Thinks about himself at that age. Thinks about what kind of power he had had.

Nothing compared to the boy. He'd been nothing. 

The Saiyan people's great hope, their great pride, and he has no doubt Kakarott's son would have obliterated him in single combat. Would have been a ridiculous joke.

Been so angry when the half-breed bastard had touched him like that. Doesn't even know why he'd been so angry. 

Was going to be more powerful than him, someday, Vegeta thinks. The fucking bastard brat was going to be stronger than him. Hated the thought of that too. Didn't want that to happen. Didn't understand why he had to keep falling behind. Didn't understand why he couldn't just be number one, just once. Just once in his miserable, useless life. Always someone better. 

Hot spike of rage in his chest, and he lets loose a guttural scream as he charges up a ki blast, hurling it at another cliff face, the thing exploding into thousands of rocks as it hits, filling the canyon with the echoing cacophony of its destruction.

Feels good to destroy things. Wants to destroy the whole fucking planet.

Was fucking angry at the woman for forcing those moronic friends of hers on him. Didn't she understand? Didn't want to talk to those worthless scum suckers. Didn't need anybody. 

The bald one especially, he couldn't stand. Pathetic little coward. At least Kakarott's son had the nerve to talk to him. The bald one though... his fear had been naked on his face, the smell of his fear roiling off him in sickening waves. Disgust too. Hated Vegeta. Could see that easy enough. Had the audacity to look down on him, like he was somehow lesser. Wanted to crush his stupid, bald, eggshell head between his hands. Wanted to so bad. Would be so easy. Would have done it in an instant, before. Would have killed him dead before. Didn't know why he didn't now.

… Thought maybe it was the woman. Thought about how upset she would be, if he killed the bald midget. Thought about how she would throw him out. Didn't want that. Had no where else to go. Didn't want her to hate him too.

Has to control himself. Can't let himself get so angry. Can't...

Freezes. Feels his body tense, defensive.

Someone coming, fast. Someone with a large power.

Vegeta turns, stares up into the sky, stares in the direction of the intruder. Can't tell yet who. Coming fast. 

Not one of the pathetic humans. Too powerful for them.

Thinks for a moment Kakarott, but no... whoever it is isn't that strong. Isn't the brat either, doesn't think.

A moment longer, and he knows.

The Namakian. Doesn't remember his name. Doesn't matter. Doesn't know why he's coming here. Doesn't care. If the fool was looking for a fight, Vegeta would happily oblige. Wanted to kill someone so bad.

Doesn't take long for the overgrown idiot to appear, floating up in the sky, staring down at him like he's trying to intimidate him. Funny, Vegeta thinks. Remembers how Nappa had slapped him around like a child's plaything. Remembers how Nappa had killed him so easily.

Smirks up at the Namakian, folding his arms over his chest, waiting...

Idiot finally decides to come down, landing only feet from where Vegeta stands, towering over him like that's supposed to mean anything. Vegeta keeps smiling up at him, doesn't move. Knows he's faster. Knows if the Namakian attacks, he'll be able to react.

Easy work, he hears Nappa's voice in his head. Might make for a good workout.

“I saw you at Bulma's gathering.” The Namakian decides to talk. “I saw you push Gohan.”

Vegeta stares up at him, mind blanking a moment.

Didn't remember that. Didn't remember...

The Namakian takes a step closer, and Vegeta has to crane his head all the way back now to look up at his face. 

“I don't want you to touch him again.” The Namakian goes on. “Don't go near him.”

Vegeta's smirk widens, holding his relaxed stance.

“I don't know what you're talking about.” He says, and that's true. Kakarott's son had touched him. Had grabbed him.

The Namakian lashes out, and Vegeta doesn't move, letting the fool take hold of his collar.

“You know.” He growls in Vegeta's face, sharp teeth showing. “You shoved him when he was talking to you.”

And now Vegeta remembers. That was right. 

“He wouldn't shut up.” Vegeta replies calmly. “I did nothing to him.”

The Namakian growls again, jerking Vegeta off the ground.

“If you touch him again, I'll...”

“You'll what?” Vegeta cuts him off, and lashes out himself, wrapping his hands round the Namakian's wrists, squeezing.

The fool holds out longer than Vegeta supposed he would, but eventually the pain becomes too much for him, and he loosens his grip on the Saiyan's collar, dropping him back to the ground.

He feels a small swell of pride at the way the Namakian steps back from him then, evidently rethinking his position.

Vegeta keeps smiling. Hasn't felt this in a while. Feels good. 

“I don't know what game you're playing at.” The Namakian says. “I don't know what manipulations you've been working against Bulma Briefs, how you've gotten her to trust you the way she does, but if you think...”

Doesn't really hear what else the Namakian says after that. Doesn't care. Red hot rage again. Hate, hate, hate... Didn't know... didn't have any right to say... 

Didn't do anything to the woman. Didn't do anything. Didn't hurt her. Didn't want to hurt her.

Didn't mean to get so angry. Just didn't want to talk to her stupid friends. Didn't mean to scare her...

Hates the Namakian. Hates him. Wants to smash his stupid face.

Lashes out, too fast, sweeps the fools legs out from under him, on top of him in a moment, knee against his chest, hands burying in the thick material of his cloak, pulls his face close. 

His own teeth are sharp.

“I would kill you now...” he hisses above him, and he can see it. The fear in the Namakian's eyes. Does a good job of hiding it. The bastard has courage.

Tries to lash out. Tries to get those rubbery arms of his round Vegeta. Vegeta doesn't let him. Flips over, takes the Namkian with him, smashes him down again onto his back, knocks the breathe out of him nice and clean.

“Don't ever speak to me the way you have here again.” Vegeta tells him, pressing his forehead to the Namakian's own. “Or I will kill you, you ugly green skinned trash.”

Doesn't give the fool a chance to respond. Smashes his head down against the Namakian's face. Knocks him cold easy enough.

Doesn't wait around. Takes off. Maybe some desert animal will find him and eat him, Vegeta thinks. Would serve the bastard right.

Had no right... no right to say what he did. 

He didn't know what it was that he had with the woman. Didn't understand it. 

Was courting her, he supposes. Only wasn't entirely sure either. Had never... had never done so with another woman. Didn't know what such a thing really entailed, beyond what he'd been told by Nappa, and a little by Raditz. Remembers tales of such endeavors from his childhood. Remembers Father telling him stories, though those memories are faded and vague. 

She seemed to have accepted his advances, at any rate. She hadn't rejected him, though he'd been fearful at first she would.

Didn't understand what the Namakian even meant. He'd done nothing but... but express an interest, and she had... she had expressed one back. They'd engaged in intercourse only a few times, the act still awkward, still, at points, tasting bitterly of shame, but very pleasurable. Vegeta only hopes she had begun to enjoy it more. She said she did now. Hopes she's telling the truth.

Didn't understand what the Namakian meant by saying he was manipulating her. He wasn't... He'd never lied to her. 

Didn't matter anyway what that fool thought. What any of them thought. If she told him to leave, he would. He wouldn't... wouldn't be dishonorable.

Wonders if her idiot friends are gone now. Wants to go back. Wants... wants to see her. 

Guesses he can take the chance. Been long enough. 

Tries to ignore the ugly doubt crawling into his brain now. Stupid fucking Namakian didn't know what the hell he was talking about...

//

It had been a complete fucking disaster. There was really no other way to put it, Bulma thinks, holding her head in her hands, questioning, once again, her life choices.

Everyone had looked at her like she had completely lost her mind, and maybe she had. Her apologies to Gohan and Krillin after Vegeta had taken off had been met with what seemed to her reluctant acceptance. Krillin in particular seemed upset with her, and she couldn't blame him.

She kept forgetting how violent Vegeta was. And then he would turn around and pull a stunt like he had earlier with the lemonade, and she would be amply reminded.

She should have realized, she thinks, when she'd gone up to him and the others, seen them saying something to each other. In retrospect, their expressions towards one another had been anything but friendly. Krillin had looked scared shitless, Gohan upset, and Vegeta... well, Vegeta had looked murderous, as angry as she'd ever seen him.

She couldn't really blame the others for their reactions either then, when she'd told them she and Vegeta were seeing each other as a couple. Couldn't fault them for the looks of concern on their faces.

Vegeta was violent.

Only... he wasn't that way with her, and that was something she'd had a difficult time explaining to them.

He'd grabbed her that one time, sprained her wrist, but she knows that he hadn't meant to. The stricken expression in his eyes, the way he'd immediately let her go when he realized what he'd done, it was enough to convince her of that. He was like a tiger that didn't know his own strength, she thinks. And he'd been nothing but almost heartbreakingly gentle with her since. 

None of her friends believed her, except Goku. She could tell they thought he'd done something to her, like he'd brainwashed or manipulated her in some way.

It was fucking absurd.

First of all insulting, that they would think she could be manipulated like that. To think that she was mentally weak enough to allow something like that to happen.

Secondly, they had no idea, none at all, who Vegeta really was. They thought he was just an asshole. A psychopathic murder machine who had no feeling or compassion for anyone. They had no clue just how damaged he was. How it was her who had had to essentially take the lead in what they had going between them, how she'd had to help him, guide him, because he simply didn't know what he was doing. Because he'd been denied any kind of experience, had never in his life known any kind of real intimacy. Because he'd never known anything even remotely normal. Because he'd never been treated with any real kindness. 

If they knew just how innocent he was in regards to romance, they would understand it was her who was in a position to manipulate him, if she'd really wanted. The thought of doing so made her sick to her stomach, because she knew how easy it would really be. 

He was so desperate for any kind of connection, desperate to be treated like a man... desperate for simply a kind touch...

They didn't know. 

He was rough, and rude, and hostile, and she could admit to herself often embarrassing. The thought of taking him out in public again made her cringe. He just didn't know how to act around people. Didn't have any kind of filter. Would just blurt out whatever he was thinking, and often what he was thinking wasn't very nice. Didn't know how to apologize. Not really. Though he'd grudgingly done so a couple of times with her, it was so strange and obviously uncomfortable for him, she would really prefer he not do it at all. Would take off and leave without a word. Would do that often. Wasn't at all chivalrous, wouldn't hold the door for her, wouldn't ask how she was. Had a flash temper which she would also admit frightened her. Would snap at her viciously sometimes without her understanding at all what she'd done. Would insult her, even at points make crude remarks. Had called her a bitch more than once. Had one time called her a cunt, and she'd slapped him for that one. 

But he'd never raised a hand to her. Not once. 

And in her work, and the history of her life, he took a profound interest, even an understanding. Asked her countless questions, was endlessly curious. Got things when she explained them. Something she wasn't used to anyone but her father doing. Was far and away the best listener she had ever known. Would sit and listen to her talk for hours, never interrupting her, never growing distracted. Would keep his eyes fixed unwaveringly on her face as she spoke, almost to the point of discomfort on her part. 

Was highly intelligent, even as she didn't think he realized it about himself, and that broke her heart. 

Was handsome. Found herself thinking that more and more with each day that passed. Didn't think he realized that about himself either.

Was getting better in bed, even if he still wasn't close to surefooted. 

Was sweet to her, in his weird sort of way. Wanted to be around her, even if he often acted aloof and indifferent to her company. Often found him lingering in doorways, found him staring at her. Thought the way a vague blush came over his cheeks when she caught him was adorable. 

She could hardly fail to notice how he followed her around. Often ghosting behind her like a shadow, or seeking her out through the house. She liked the way it made her feel when he did. Made her feel wanted. Made her feel special.

That was more than she could say she'd ever really felt with Yamcha.

Now Vegeta had taken off again, and again it was because she'd somehow made the wrong move. 

She doesn't know why she's so desperate for him to be accepted by her inner circle. What they thought didn't matter to her. She was certain on that. 

It was more to do with Vegeta, she supposes. She wanted him to have friends. And since her friends were the only people on Earth who could in any sense of the word relate to Vegeta and what he was, she'd thought, somehow, through a little effort, a bond might be formed, if only she took the initiative and got the ball rolling, so to speak.

She should have accounted for everyone's fear. They weren't around Vegeta like she was, hadn't gotten to know him like her, and the only one among them who could really protect himself against Vegeta if he were to go bad again was Goku. The others would more or less be sitting ducks.

Didn't really account for Vegeta's surly attitude either. 

Didn't really stop to consider whether Vegeta would want to make friends with her friends. She'd just assumed, again. Didn't really listen. He'd told her he didn't want to socialize with them, but she'd convinced herself he didn't really mean that. That he needed people, and just hadn't realized it.

She'd forced the situation, and as usual, it had blown up in her face.

If Vegeta was going to become friendly with her group, it was going to have to happen naturally. He was going to have to learn to trust them, and they him. 

That should have been obvious, but as she was beginning to realize, being a genius didn't always mean she was smart.

She's broken from her thoughts at the sound of soft footfall, and she looks up, seeing Vegeta walking towards her from across the lawn.

The relief she feels in palpable, and she stands immediately to greet him.

Somewhere inside her, she can admit to herself she's a little angry at him for the way he'd stormed off, for the violence he'd displayed in knocking the tray of glasses from her hands, and for the threatening attitude he'd taken towards Krillin and Gohan. 

But she can also admit it hadn't been entirely his fault. She knew him well enough at this point that she should understand his limitations. She still needed to remind herself sometimes that he hadn't come from what she or any of her friends would consider a normal upbringing. That he hadn't been brought up like any of them. He knew violence. That had been his life. So of course, he was at times going to react violently to things which, in their world, it wasn't really appropriate to. He would learn, eventually.

She hopes...

Seeing him back, besides, does away with whatever anger she might have still been holding on to, and she feels herself smiling as he gets closer.

As he does, she sees too his clothes and face are covered in dirt and dust, his hair disheveled, his knuckles bruised and bloody, and quickly that concern of hers returns.

What had he been doing?

One thing they were going to have to work on, she thinks, if they were really going to try and be in a relationship together, was their communication skills. He never told her anything, but she would have liked to know once in a while where it was he went and what he was doing, if only for her peace of mind.

“Vegeta,” she calls when he's almost to her, and he looks up, seeming to start at the sight of her. That seems odd, she thinks. Usually he was so aware of his surroundings.

“Are you alright?” She asks, truly unsure.

He stares back at her a moment, still seeming to recover from her apparently unexpected presence, and she sees him lick his lips before turning his face away, fixing his gaze out towards the backyard gardens.

“Are they gone?” He asks instead of answering her question.

“Yes.” Bulma replies. “They left about an hour ago.”

“Kakarott as well?”

“Yeah.” Bulma goes on. “Everyone's gone. It's just me and my parents again.”

Vegeta nods, finally turning back to look at her.

“... I don't like your... parties, or whatever you call them.” He says abruptly.

“Yeah, I kinda figured.” Bulma says back, trying not to laugh at his blunt manner of speech. “What about you? You look like you've been having fun somewhere else.”

She sees a muscle twitch in his jaw, and he looks away again, scoffing quietly.

“The Namakian followed me out to the desert. We had an exchange.”

Bulma's eyes go wide, and she isn't quite sure she's heard right.

“Namakian... you mean... Piccolo?”

“Is that his name?” Vegeta says, affecting a disinterested tone.

“What do you mean you got into an exchange? Does that mean you got into a fight with him?” Bulma goes on, feeling her heart kick in sudden panic. It must have been because of Gohan, she realizes. Because Vegeta had threatened him, or whatever. At least, according to Krillin he had. She didn't think Piccolo would be stupid enough to go after Vegeta otherwise. But he was so protective of Gohan... “Oh God, don't tell me you killed him. You didn't kill him, did you?!”

Vegeta doesn't answer for a moment, and Bulma thinks she's going to be sick. Oh God, if he'd killed Piccolo, then that meant...

“I was tempted. But no, I didn't kill the miserable fool. Just left him out cold in the hot sun. It's no concern of mine if he dies from exposure or if some wild beast finds him.”

Okay, this was going to be hard getting used to. 

It was one thing to know abstractly that Vegeta was a killer. That he'd killed God only knew how many people. It was another thing seeing it in actual practice.

He spoke so cavalierly about Piccolo dying. She could tell it wasn't false. He just really didn't care.

It was such a bizarre contrast, when with her he was always so gentle and quiet, so obviously taking care.

“But he's still alive?” She presses, wanting to make sure. 

He turns to look back at her again, some emotion passing over his features a moment, only it's gone too fast for her to make out, and suddenly he's moving past her, towards the house.

“Last I saw him, yes.” He answers as he walks by. “I'm going to wash.”

He doesn't say another word, Bulma turning to watch him as he disappears into the house, a vague sense of disappointment sitting heavy in her gut.


	18. Chapter 18

Tile feels cool against his forehead as he leans into it, pressing his cheek down flat against the surface and closing his eyes. Water feels nice against his back.

Remembers on purge missions, he could go days and weeks without being able to wash. Either not having the time or chance, or simply because there were no facilities or even ponds or lakes to bathe in.

It had seemed surreal to him, the first several months he'd lived here in the woman's house, that he'd had daily access and permission to use to such fine and extravagant wash rooms. Equally so he'd found himself sleeping in a soft bed every night. Stranger still the access he'd had to a seemingly never ending supply of high quality food and water.

He couldn't get used to it. Couldn't get used to being full. Had grown so accustomed over the years to the constant ache of emptiness in the pit of his stomach. Had grown so accustomed to sleeping wherever he could simply find a dry patch of ground to lie down on.

Luxury hadn't been a part of his life since he'd been too young to even really remember it, and he wonders, sometimes, as he looks around at the wealth and comfort of Bulma and her family's life, if this is what his own might have looked like, had he been allowed to stay with Father...

But it mattered nothing now. He hadn't been, and whatever life he might once have been promised had long ago turned to bitter ashes.

That he was here now, surrounded by the wealth and power of another, and allowed to live within that comfort... it seems to him an ironic joke.

A fallen prince, destitute, without home or rank, without standing or power or influence... without anything to offer at all, taken in and supported by the grace and generosity of a woman who owed him nothing. Who treated him with kindness and respect though he'd given her little reason to treat him with anything more than contempt.

Bulma is extraordinary.

He doesn't know how to tell her that. Has so many things he always wants to say to her, only when he tries, his words get all mixed up, come out wrong and stupid sounding. Anger always quick to follow for how he can't articulate, and that only mixes him up more, makes him want to hit something. It was always easier, just to hit something. 

She was so patient with him, but not in the... the condescending way Frieza had used to show patience towards him when he couldn't think how to talk. Frieza had been so unpredictable. Vegeta had never known when his former master would smile in that belittling way he had, pat him on the head, call him a good monkey and tell him to “take his time”, or when he would lose all control of his temper and instead lash out, beat Vegeta bloody for something as simple as taking too long to say what he was trying to.

Vegeta had always known his limitations.

He lacked an education, and he knew that. Nappa had tried teaching him some things, but the big man had never been a very good teacher, and not very bright besides; and there hadn't been much time or opportunity for that sort of thing back then. Still, he'd managed a few things. Vegeta could speak a couple languages. The language of his people, which was useless now, and Galactic standard, which was what allowed him to speak to Bulma and the other Earthlings. He had been able to read before he'd been taken from home, but only at a rudimentary level, and his literary abilities had hardly progressed beyond that point since, either in his native tongue or anything else.

He's embarrassed by it. Bulma doesn't know. Doesn't want her to know either. She was so phenomenally smart, so plainly, highly educated. She would only laugh at him if she knew he could barely read the labels on the jars of food in her kitchen. Anything beyond that level was almost impossible for him. 

He'd found some books lying around the house and had snuck them away, back to his room to see if he could read them. He hadn't been able to make it past five or six pages on any, his head starting to hurt from how often he'd had to keep stopping to work the words out, trying to sound them out in his head or aloud, knowing he was likely getting them wrong. Half the words he didn't recognize or know the meaning of at all, making the text impossible for him to comprehend. It was too confusing and hard, made him feel so dumb, and eventually he'd just given up, frustrated and humiliated.

He'd glanced at some of the books Bulma kept open on the tables in her work space and he'd nearly blanched at the complex sentences and what seemed mathematical or scientific formulas of some kind. She'd caught him looking once and had started to ask him if he was interested, started to say if he wanted he could borrow the book, like she'd thought he could actually understand any of it, and he'd been so embarrassed and mortified, he'd snapped at her, said something ugly, like he usually did, before storming out. 

He'd be surprised, if she hadn't figured out from that what was going on.

Vegeta didn't think he was entirely stupid. At least, not as stupid as Frieza had always used to tell him he was.

He was good at figuring things out. Good at mechanical things. Knew how to fix machines when they broke down. He'd always been the one to maintain their space pods when out on mission, since he'd been a little boy. Nappa and Raditz always looking to him, expecting him to be able to figure out what was wrong if one of their crafts malfunctioned. And he'd always managed somehow. Thought he had good instincts as a fighter. Was good at figuring out what his opponent was doing, figuring out how to neutralize them once he did. Was good at strategy in combat. Good at reading maps, at anticipating an enemies tactics and maneuvers. Frieza, for as often as he'd put Vegeta's intellect down, had never failed to utilize and consult him over offensive and defensive strategy in engaging an opposing force.

But compared to Bulma, he knows he might as well be the mindless animal Frieza had always told him he was.

Her brain worked at an impossibly fast clip, processing information like some advanced computer, moving from one thought to the next with rapid fire motion and with incredible focus and precision. She was witty and sharp tongued, obviously brilliant in engineering and mathematics, thinking in abstract and conceptual terms which he couldn't at all conceive. In contrast, Vegeta knows, it took him a pathetically long time just to form a single, coherent thought, even longer to simply put that thought into words. He was dull and slow, his thoughts always fracturing apart in his mind and floating disordered and shapeless, too vague and to ever really grab a hold of.

Zarbon and Dodoria had used to laugh at him when he was a boy, for the way he'd stutter and stumble trying to get the words out, fear forcing his mouth to act before his brain had worked out what he was trying to say.

He'd learned then, for him at least, it was best to speak as little as possible, to avoid embarrassing himself, if for nothing else.

Bulma never pressured him to speak. She didn't seem to mind his silence, and he was grateful to her for that. Grateful too, that when he did try to say something, she didn't laugh, or tell him to hurry up, or get frustrated with how long it took him. 

Extraordinary woman, too good for him.

He could see it, in her eyes sometimes, that he scared her. Like out there just now, when he'd told her about the Namakian, Piccolo, or whatever she'd said his name was, and she'd thought for a moment he'd killed the idiot. He'd seen the fear, and then the disappointment in her eyes, and he'd been so afraid himself then, and he couldn't say why.

Didn't want her to be disappointed in him, but didn't know how not to be. She would be more than disappointed if she knew what he really was. Disappointment replaced by disgust and horror. 

He thinks again of what the Namakian had said, that he was somehow manipulating her. Doesn't want to believe that. Only... 

He knows Bulma has only an abstract idea of what it is he's done in his life. She knows he's killed, but he can tell she doesn't really understand what that means. Doubts she's ever seen anyone violently murdered before, except Zarbon, and that murder had been done, in truth, in self-defense. But he'd killed countless more in cold blood. People who had done nothing to him. People who had only been trying to survive, and he'd ruthlessly cut them down like wheat beneath a scythe. 

Was it a manipulation, he wonders, that he had started a courtship with Bulma, knowing himself she didn't fully understand what he was? Knowing, in all likelihood if she did, she would want nothing to do with him?

Doesn't want her to leave him though. Likes it... He likes being with her. Doesn't know what... doesn't know what he would do if she told him to go. Thought of it making it suddenly hard to breathe. Imagining her beautiful, kind face twisting into vicious hatred for him, and he feels his heart kick with painful fear and panic as the image locks in his brain, refusing to let go.

He closes his eyes, presses his palms over his face.

Wasn't fair to her though. Wasn't fair what he was doing. Didn't deserve her anyway. 

Thoughts confused again, can't think straight. Doesn't know what to do. Should stop, probably. Should stop courting her. Stop letting her treat him so well, when he doesn't deserve... doesn't deserve her kindness, her friendship... 

Didn't lie to her though. Didn't lie to her about what he was. Didn't tell her he was something else. She must have known, deep down. He'd come to this planet to destroy it, to kill everyone on it. She'd seen him kill. She must have known. And still she wanted him around. Said she did, anyway... 

Sounds like excuses, he thinks. Sounds like justification... Never done that before. Never lied to himself about what he did. Knew it was wrong. Knew it. Just didn't want to die himself. Cared more about himself than those nameless, faceless people he killed. Tries not to think about the dreams he sometimes has, about all of them. Tries not to remember for the sick feeling it sometimes left in his stomach.

Didn't want to hurt Bulma either though. Really didn't want to hurt her.

Thinks maybe he should leave then. Thinks maybe it would be for the best. 

Wasn't getting any stronger here anyway. Thinks maybe that was because of Bulma too. Found himself spending more time with her than he should. Should be training. Couldn't let Kakarott get farther ahead. It was only... he didn't feel so confused around Bulma. Didn't feel so lost all the time. Thoughts in his head slowed down, quieter. Didn't think so much of bad memories...

Maybe that was why he wasn't getting any stronger though. It felt like, when he was around Bulma, he didn't have the motivation anymore. Wasn't so angry, wasn't so desperate. Had used to push himself, pushed himself almost to death because he'd had to get out, had to get out from under Frieza's rule, had to get out from under the life he was living...

Doesn't want to lose that. Was all he'd had, his whole life. All that kept him alive...

He grits his teeth, frustration mounting in him at his inability to understand what he should do. Frustration always risked turning to anger, and he has to tell himself to calm down, taking in a deep breath, like Raditz had used to show him, whenever he'd started to lose control.

He stands in the shower some minutes more before finally deciding he's lingered long enough, forcing himself to turn off the water and exit the stall.

The cool air of the bathroom is unpleasant on his skin after the warmth of the spray, and he reaches quickly for the towel hanging on the rack, wanting to dry off and get dressed.

He notices then the neatly folded pile of fresh clothes sitting out on the toilet lid. Those hadn't been there before, and he knows quickly that Bulma must have laid them out for him while he was washing.

Notices also the clothes he'd been wearing before are gone, and he thinks suddenly of when she'd stolen his clothes from the wash room that first time, and left him that absurdly feminine shirt and those garish pants in place. She'd played him for a fool, and he'd been genuinely angry then. Only now when he thinks of it, he can't help the small smile which tugs at his lips, thinking of her absolute gall. She'd never seemed afraid of him, not really. Not since on Namek, anyway. Never so afraid that she wasn't willing to engage him, like the others. Never so afraid that she pretended with him.

He admires her for it. Admires her courage. Thinks, sometimes, she would have stood up to Frieza, if she'd had a mind to.

She didn't leave him anything embarrassing to wear this time, and he dresses quickly. He isn't sure where she gets the clothes for him. He'd never asked her to acquire garments for him to wear. They could be her father's, he supposes, given they're close to the same height. But the clothes seem to fit too well for that, and her father was old and bent from age. He'd probably been taller, when he was younger. She would have to have sought the clothes out specifically, he thinks.

Doesn't know why she does things like that for him. Doesn't know why she does anything, really. Why she seems to want to... take care of him.

Confuses him, doesn't know how to respond to it most of the time. Most of the time just didn't respond at all, thinking whatever he said, it would be the wrong thing anyhow.

Hopes she isn't mad at him for that. Just wasn't used to it. Wasn't used to someone... someone who...

A soft knock at the door breaks apart his thoughts, and he looks up, seeing it come open, a moment later Bulma's face appearing through the crack. She smiles at him, her eyes moving along his frame, and he struggles not to fidget under her scrutiny.

“Hey handsome.” She says, and he looks away from her, fixing his eyes on the wall. He hates when she calls him that. He isn't handsome. Doesn't know why she tries to tell him he is. “Feeling better?”

Jaw clenches, feels his frame stiffen. 

“I'm fine.” He replies woodenly. Didn't like when she sounded so concerned. Didn't want her to see him as weak.

“Those clothes look good on you.” Hears her say. “You like 'em?”

He glances at her, eyes sliding away again a moment after.

“They'll suffice.” He says, and her light laughter tinkles over his ears. 

Again he glances at her. She's grinning at him.

“Well you're certainly to the point.” She says, smile wide and genuine. Wasn't laughing at him though, doesn't think. Her smile friendly and kind. “Listen, I was wondering if you wanted to come and watch a movie with me? Not out, I mean. Just here, in the house.”

Still doesn't know what a movie is. Doesn't want to admit that. 

Something in his body language must give it away though, as she starts explaining it to him.

“It's like a, um... a play. Do you know what a play is?” 

No, he thinks, and doesn't say anything.

If she's losing her patience with him over his ignorance, she doesn't show it.

“Hmm, well... lets just say it's people telling a story through acting, by pretending to be someone they're not.”

Vegeta blinks, doesn't understand.

“Why would they pretend to be someone they aren't?” He asks, eyes cutting to her.

“Well it's for entertainment.” Bulma explains. “Other people watch it and enjoy it.”

That seems stupid, Vegeta thinks, and says so.

“That's stupid.” He says, and again Bulma laughs, sweet and amused.

“Sometimes, yeah. But there's some really great movies too. Some that should even be considered art. Look, it'll be easier to understand if I show one to you, so what do you say? Wanna join me? We can eat dinner while we watch.”

Hard to turn down food.

Hadn't eaten since that morning. Could feel the hunger gnawing at his stomach. Felt a little weak.

Tries to pretend he might say no, but already knows he'll say yes. Sure she knows that too. Seemed to always know everything.

Doesn't say anything, and she comes fully into the wash room, comes towards him. Grabs hold of his wrist, tugs on his arm.

“Come on.” She says. “It'll be fun.”

Tugs on him again. Doesn't say anything still; lets her pull him.

Following behind like a dog behind its master.

//

Halfway through the film Bulma feels something fall against her shoulder, and glancing down she sees Vegeta's head leaned against her, eyes closed and lips slightly parted.

He's nodded off, she realizes, watching as his breaths come slow and steady, his face almost shockingly relaxed. 

She stares, transfixed, the thought coming to her of how young he looks. His expression was always so tight, almost pained when awake, the burden of his life sitting heavy on his features. Not adding age, really, but a kind of maturity which made him appear older than he was.

When he was sleeping like this though, all that went away, and there was an awful youth about him. He looked so much younger than his actual years. No older than sixteen or seventeen.

Bulma knew that Saiyans retained their youth for longer than humans. She'd figured that out from Goku, though before she'd discovered, along with him, what he really was, his continuing youthful appearance had confused and even unsettled her.

But Goku had such an innocent manner about him, his boyish face didn't at any time seem entirely out of sorts.

On Vegeta though, it was just plain odd.

There was nothing really young about him. He seemed often to her so worn and tired. Run down. 

Even in his sleep, he was so haunted by nightmares, his face twisting and twitching in some invincible, unknown torture. It was unusual to see him so calm as he was now.

She can't help the small smile which tugs at her lips, a kind of relieved joy warming her heart to see him like this, and she reaches down, touching the tips of her fingers lightly against his temple. There's a scar there, white and raised off his light skin, running up beneath his hairline. Absently she traces along it, wondering how far up it reaches; wondering, more morbidly, how it is he got it.

Each scar marring his body has a story behind it, she knows. She finds herself tempted constantly to ask him about each, always restraining herself, both out of respect for him and her own fear of knowing.

She continues watching him for some seconds, just watching him breathe.

He'd eaten all of his food, she notices, finally pulling her eyes from him, her gaze landing on his empty dish, set off neatly to the side of the couch.

The film continues to play in the background, and she reaches for the remote, shutting it off. He seemed to have been enjoying it, she thinks, his attention fixed on the TV the whole time, asking her occasional questions about what was going on. In the least he didn't seem to hate it, if he'd seemed a little confused at points.

It must have been strange to him, something like a film.

His real life must have been so much more extraordinary and bizarre than any film, she thinks.

For a few minutes longer she just sits there with him leaned against her, wondering what she should do. It was getting late, and she'd like to get to bed herself.

But she hated to wake him, especially since he was sleeping for once so soundly.

A small swell of pride wells in her chest at the thought that maybe it was her presence that had allowed him to relax enough to fall asleep like he had.

And she thinks she should allow him to keep sleeping.

Deciding on it, she's slow to remove herself from the couch, taking gentle hold of his head as she stands and lowering him onto the cushions, her heart kicking a little harder for fear of waking him up.

But he keeps sleeping, and she grabs up one of the pillows and places it underneath him before letting him go, grabbing up the shall draped over the back of the sofa, covering him up with it.

For a long moment she just watches him, surprised by the strength of the fondness which takes hold of her heart as she does.

She doesn't think she's in love with him. Not yet. But... with each day passing, she finds her affection for him growing stronger still. 

That she cares deeply for him at this point can't be denied. She does. Incredibly so.

She doesn't even think about it then as she bends at the waist, pressing her lips softly against his temple.

Reaches out then, cups her hand against his jaw. His skin is warm and soft beneath her touch.

“Goodnight Vegeta.” She whispers, and she strokes her fingers down his cheek before finally straightening and turning. 

She shuts the lights off as she leaves the room, heading silently out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, my greatest thanks to all my readers and reviewers! You guys are the absolute best, and continue to inspire me so much with this story. I hope you continue to enjoy, and once again, if you have a chance, let me know your thoughts! Thanks so much again!


	19. Chapter 19

Vegeta wakes with a violent start, a half-strangled gasp sticking in his throat as he rockets upright.

For a moment, he doesn't know where he is, the remnants of his dream still clinging to his sleep addled brain.

He can feel hands on him, too strong for him to break free of, pressing him down, holding him...

It's like drowning, the awful sense of weakness, struggling with everything to free himself and failing to loosen the hold on him at all.

Giant palm over his mouth and nose, trapping his voice and breath in his throat, a looming, broad silhouette above him, too dark to see anything of who it is.

Vegeta has had this same, recurring dream since boyhood.

He has no idea what it means. If it means anything.

Doesn't know if it's memory or simple nightmare. Finds that often the case with things in his mind. Sometimes can't tell reality from illusion, and that scares him more than anything, sometimes.

Sometimes thinks he's losing his mind completely.

Slowly though the sense of the dream begins to fade, his surroundings coming into focus, and with it the memory of the evening before.

He'd been with Bulma.

She'd been showing him a... a movie, or whatever she called it.

It hadn't been unpleasant, though he... he hadn't understood what the point was. Why those people were pretending. Bulma said they were pretending, though it had seemed real to him. 

He'd felt confused, but had been too embarrassed to ask more questions. Didn't want her to think he was stupid.

Guesses he'd... he'd fallen asleep or something. Notices the blanket draped over him then, and the pillow that had been under his head. Realizes Bulma must have done that...

Feels embarrassed suddenly at it. Wishes too that she was still here, and feels his face burn with that ridiculous longing. She'd obviously just gone to bed in her own room, not wanting to bother with waking him.

Strange feeling, though, like a tightness in his chest thinking about how she'd bothered making him comfortable. 

Doesn't remember anyone ever doing that for him. Not even Father...

He grabs up the blanket, tossing it aside and standing from the couch.

The room is still dark and he thinks it must be early morning.

He'd gotten so used to the differing length of days on innumerable different planets, it hadn't been very difficult for him to adjust to this ones relatively short rotation period.

He enjoyed the mornings here, with its cool weather. Enjoyed training in it...

Training...

He needed to stop allowing himself so many distractions. Needed to push himself harder. Wasn't getting any closer to achieving Super Saiyan. Didn't feel like it anyway.

Wonders sometimes... all the time... if he simply can't. If he simply doesn't have the ability.

Thought scares him. Scares him so much. Hates how much he thinks it might be so. Thinks he just isn't good enough, isn't strong enough, isn't talented enough...

Thinks about how Father must have been wrong, about him. How much Father had overestimated his gifts...

Thinks about how he'd known of the legend his whole life. Known it since he'd been a boy. Since before Frieza had taken him. Had worked towards achieving it since. Near every moment of his waking existence dedicated towards it.

Thinks about how Kakarott hadn't even known what he was. Remembers the lost, baffled expression on his face as he'd lain there dying, begging him to find the strength, to become the legend of their people. To destroy Frieza. For him. For all Saiyans. 

Remembers believing more strongly in Kakarott then than he ever had in himself.

The fool hadn't even tried.

Just been there for him. There for the taking. Like everything else.

When Vegeta had woken from death and dug himself out from that shallow grave, and he'd seen him, seen him with that shock of burning yellow hair and unnaturally green eyes... Felt the strength of his power flaming around him... He'd known, without ever having seen the like before... he'd known Kakarott had achieved Super Saiyan.

And strange thing, in that moment, he'd felt no anger... No hatred towards the lower class warrior.

Felt only a kind of painful pride. 

Seen the shocked, nearly fearful look across Frieza's face, and felt a swelling of pride, that it was one of his own, one of his own kind that had put the fear of defeat, the fear of death across that monster's face; into his shriveled, useless heart.

It was a look Vegeta had dreamed of. So many times. Envisioned so many times with desperate longing and hopeless despair.

A look he had never truly believed he would see. Not at his hands, or the hands of any Saiyan.

And yet it had been so, at the hands of a lower class. And Vegeta had, in that moment... he had felt such pride in Kakarott, had felt such admiration...

That had gone away.

The moment of victory faded, and he'd been left with nothing but the bitter ashes of his own failure.

Left wondering why it was he'd been born as he had. Been born with so much seeming potential, and yet... he'd achieved nothing. How it was then a boy born with so little promise had grown so much stronger than he could ever have dreamed of being.

Supposes, like everything else in his life, it was the gods playing him the fool. 

As he'd been born the Prince of their people, destined to rule and lead his people in an age of golden prosperity; and then, barely out of his infancy, been made instead into a slave. 

A beaten dog cowering back from its masters raised hand.

Couldn't stand it, when he thinks about it. Couldn't stand it. 

He had to be able to achieve what Kakarott had. Had to. It made no sense, otherwise. 

There was only something he was missing. Some thing he hadn't done right...

Thinks about how if that was so... thinks about how if only he could have known what it was before, then Raditz, and Nappa... and Father... they would all still be alive.

If he hadn't failed. Hadn't failed them...

He shakes his head, reaching his hands up and burying his fingers in his hair, tugging at it until it tears at his scalp, the sharp pain bringing his mind back into focus.

Gotta train harder, he thinks. Had to be a way.

Makes sure to fold the blanket and put the pillow back in its place before leaving, heading for the kitchen, the tug of hunger already starting in his belly.

//

Bulma yawns widely as she settles into her seat, cup of hot coffee held in her free hand, reaching out along the switchboard with her other, flipping the lab's monitors on.

She'd woken up about half an hour before, the first thought in her mind upon doing so to check on Vegeta.

Of course he was already up and gone, shawl squarely folded and pillow replaced. Neat, as Vegeta always seemed to be. She'd peered outside the kitchen window into the backyard afterward, seeing the green light on over the entrance to the gravity room, indicating its occupation, and she knew he was in there, training.

That always worried her, and she'd decided to skip breakfast to head to her lab instead, intent in checking up on him.

Vegeta pushes himself too hard, she thinks. He'd ended up so badly injured so many times from doing too much, and she'd long ago begun to regret ever building that stupid gravity room for him. It was like he didn't know his own limits. Or if he did, he just didn't care to heed them. Didn't care, it seemed sometimes, if he killed himself.

Sure enough, the live feed comes through on the screen above her, and she sees him bathed in a wash of red light, indicating the increased gravity pressure in the room. 

He's doing two fingered push-ups, one arm folded flat behind his back, rivulets of sweat pouring down his down turned face, glistening off his naked torso. She can see the lines of stress across his features, teeth gritted.

He's going down all the way to his chest, pushing back up with arm fully extended, and Bulma's eyes switch to the control panel in the room, seeing the gravity set at 550.

Gods...

He really was going to kill himself one day.

The litter of scars marring his back and arms sit out stark and ugly in the red light.

Her gaze flicks to the timer on her end, seeing the room's been in use for six hours.

That was it.

She engages the video screen, patching her own feed through.

“Vegeta,” she calls out his name sharply to get his attention.

He keeps doing those pushups, saying nothing.

Bulma swallows, nervous and angry at the same time, frustrated.

“Vegeta,” she snaps again. “come on. Come inside and take a break. You've been in there long enough.”

Still he ignores her, and she watches in dismay as he finally stops the pushups, clearly struggling back to his feet, the strain of the gravity beginning to take it's toll.

He's completely exhausted, but shows no indication he plans to stop.

Instead he makes his way back over to the control panel, punching in some code along the number pad, and a moment later, ten combat bots come from the walls, immediately positioning themselves around him.

He crouches into a battle stance, and Bulma feels her heart kick in her chest, fear churning her stomach.

“Vegeta, for God's sake!” She shouts, the bots exploding into action the instant following.

It's a blur of movement too fast for her to see, the screen filling with a blinding bright light, her ears assaulted with a cacophony of noise.

It lasts only seconds, but to Bulma it seems to go on forever, the smoke taking far too long to clear away.

She stands from her seat, hands gripping the sides of the console as she leans closer to the screen, heart pounding.

She feels it drop when the smoke at last does clear, and she sees Vegeta lying on the ground, motionless, a nearly foot long, bloody gash cutting across his back, weeping out onto the floor below him.

The broken apart scraps of the destroyed bots lie around him in heaps of smoking metal, but she hardly notices that.

Mouth dry, sick fear working through her insides, she cries out.

“Vegeta!”

No response, no movement at all, and Bulma doesn't wait any longer.

She bolts from the lab, skipping the elevator, bursting through the exit and starting up the stairs two at a time.

She makes it out to the backyard within a minute, sprinting towards the gravity room, her chest heaving with her breath as she punches in the access code at the door, the compression locks loosing a loud beep as they retract and she pulls the heavy door outward.

The gravity cuts off with her entry, an emergency shut off she'd programmed in to the room, the red lights cutting, filling the space with regular soft white.

She sees Vegeta quickly as she enters, still lying in the exact same position, clearly unconscious.

Up close, the wound across his back is ghastly and horrific, and she already knows it's going to leave a vicious, ugly scar, only adding to the multitude he already bears.

She hesitates briefly, fear freezing her to the spot, the awful thought that he might be dead closing her throat up, before she lurches forward, running to his side and falling to her knees.

“Vegeta! Oh God...” she reaches for him, pressing her fingers to his neck. For a moment she feels nothing, and her fear skyrockets, nearly choking her before she feels the weak beat of his pulse against her fingers.

She nearly collapses with the relief, tears stinging her eyes as she tries desperately to revive him.

“Vegeta, please...” she slips her hand beneath his face, pressing the other to his forehead, turning him slightly onto his side. “oh God, please say something. Come on...”

Long seconds pass without response, and Bulma can feel her panic building, threatening to overcome her.

“Come ON!” She slaps him hard across the face, unthinking, and finally, finally, she sees his lids flutter, his eyes coming slowly open.

He stares bleary eyed and unseeing a moment, gaze entirely unfocused, doesn't see her at all, she thinks.

Tears finally spill over, down Bulma's cheeks.

“Vegeta,” She calls his name again. “look at me, please.”

It takes too long. Much too long, before his eyes at last seem to gain recognition in them, and he stares up at her in plain confusion.

It's then the pain seems to hit him, his face twisting into an agonized grimace, his head turning away as he tries to roll out of her hold.

She doesn't let him go.

“Stop.” She says. “Vegeta, don't. You're badly hurt.”

“... 'm fine.” He mutters, voice rough and weak, and she knows that's not true at all.

“No you're not.” She says bluntly. “I need you to stay still while I go get help.”

He tries pulling free from her again, and it's only testament to how hurt he is, that he can't.

“Don't be fucking stupid Vegeta.” She scolds, anger beginning to mix with her fear. Why did he have to keep doing this to himself? To her? “Stay still!”

To her shock, he actually listens, falling motionless in her hold.

He's breathing heavily, almost panting, and she thinks the pain he's in must be terrible for him to be showing it as much as this.

Glancing again at the bleeding wound cutting across his back, she feels suddenly ill, and understands why in that instant he can't quite cover up how much he's suffering. It's deep. Grossly so. Is going to require hundreds of stitches, she thinks, if she can't get a hold of a senzu bean. 

“Just... just stay calm and wait here. I'm going to go get Dad. Alright?” She looks at his face, his teeth gritting together, lines of stress making themselves known across his forehead and around his eyes.

He breathes out heavily through his nose before giving a single, jerky nod, and she knows he really is suffering then, if he's agreeing to help.

Gods...

“Okay, just... you're going to be okay Vegeta. I'll be back as quickly as I can.”

He says nothing, his eyes glassy and staring blankly at the floor. She reaches out, pressing her palm against his forehead, what she hopes is a reassuring gesture, before she finally lets him go.

He crumples down, his face and stomach flat against the floor, eyelids drooping closed, features still screwed up in pain.

Bulma touches the crown of his head one last time before pushing herself to her feet, heart pounding again as she practically runs from the simulator, back out into the yard and to the house.

She's got to find Dad fast. 

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////4

“Prince Vegeta.”

…

“Prince Vegeta, can you look at me?”

Vision comes weakly into focus. Sees the medbay physician's face close to his own, peering at him with her concerned yellow eyes.

Doesn't remember what happened... where he is...

Sees Nappa standing behind the physician, eyes fixed on him too, same, worried look, stressed look.

Doesn't see Raditz. Doesn't know what happened.

Tries sitting up. Physician pushes him back down.

“No, you've suffered a severe concussion.” She says to him. “I need you to stay still.”

“Is he... is he gonna be alright?” Nappa says. “I didn't mean to hurt him more, ah damn... I didn't mean to...”

The physician doesn't say anything for a long moment, her eyes fixed on Vegeta still.

Takes a light, shines it in his eyes.

Vegeta flinches back from it, turning his face away. Hurts. Hurts his eyes.

“... I don't know.” She finally says, voice distant, distracted. “Prince Vegeta, look at me. Follow my finger with your eyes, alright?”

Can't remember what happened. Wonders where Raditz is. Hopes he's alright.

“Prince Vegeta,”

Turns back to her voice. Holding one of her fingers up, and he knows what he's supposed to do. Follows it with his eyes. Tries to. A little hard. Keeps seeing double, triple...

Sees her frown, unhappy look on her face as she straightens, turning to Nappa.

“I don't really like what I'm seeing.” She says. Nappa's skin pales. “His vision is off. I'd like to keep him here a few days for observation.”

“... We... we can't.” Nappa stammers out. “We're supposed to ship out tomorrow. He's team leader. If he doesn't go, we don't get paid.”

“I don't think you quite understand.” The physician goes on, crossing her arms over her chest. “You have a very badly injured child here. Listen, Vegeta's health has been gradually declining over the last several years, and this latest injury only threatens to exacerbate all his other physical issues, and possibly neurological issues as well. He's still severely underweight. He's beginning to develop joint problems, bone problems, dental problems. He's suffering from malnutrition and the effects of years of blunt force trauma. He's eight years old. Do you understand what I'm saying to you? He's still growing, still developing, and all of this physical trauma he's suffering is going to have a permanently negative impact on him if we don't do something now.”

Nappa's face twits in frustration and familiar anger.

“And what am I supposed to do!? Huh?” He snaps. “We don't go out on mission, we don't get paid, we don't get no food! I can't feed him if we don't get paid! I can't help him!”

The physician steps back, plainly intimidated by the massive Saiyan's outburst.

“... I'm just trying to explain,” she says after a moment, voice less forceful. “he's just a boy. He needs help. The... the last thing he needs right now is to go out into a combat situation. If he gets hit on the head again while he's still suffering from this concussion, it could cause permanent damage to his brain.”

“Then what am I supposed to do?! We ain't got no supplies left! Can't afford nothin' till we get paid. Food, clothes, tooth paste...” Nappa fumes, massive hand coming up to tug at his thinning hair. “How the fuck am I supposed to take care of him!?”

Can't stand listening to it. Can't stand that they're talking about him like he's not even there. Like he's a useless, burdensome child. Anger starting to bubble up again.

“... Where's Raditz?” He asks, but they either don't hear him or don't care that he just spoke, the two of them continuing to talk, to discuss him.

Anger builds bigger, can feel himself losing it, that awful, tight hate building in his chest.

“Where's RADITZ!?” He barks loudly, and that gets their attention, the two of them stopping and staring at him dumbly a moment.

“... You... You broke his jaw Vegeta...” Nappa finally says, voice hesitant, almost scared. “Don't you remember?”

No... He didn't remember. Didn't remember that.

Sick guilt churns in his stomach. Broke Raditz' jaw? Why? Why would he...?

His face must give it away, because Nappa steps around the physician, coming closer, starting to talk more.

“You were... you were real upset little man. Real upset, because... because of your Papa...”

Because of Papa... Because of...

And he remembers then. Remembers everything.

That was right. 

Father was dead.

Guesses he got angry, because of that. Guesses he lost it.

Father was supposed to come for him. Had promised he would.

Guesses that made Father a liar.

He looks away, staring at the wall, and he can't feel anything now. Doesn't know why that is. Doesn't know what's wrong with him. Why he would hurt Raditz like that. 

“Vegeta...” Nappa steps closer, and it takes everything in the boy not to recoil.

“I'm fine now.” He says, voice flat. Sounds dead to his own ears. Slides off the exam table. “We'll ship out tomorrow.”

“Prince Vegeta, I don't think...” the physician starts to say.

He cuts her off.

“I'm fine.” He says more sharply. “We need credits. We're going on mission.”

“Are... are ya sure little man?” Nappa starts to question him then, and Vegeta hates the uncertainty in his voice. “If you're...”

“Stop QUESTIONING ME!” He roars, his ki flaring, and Nappa steps back, visibly shaken, the physician stumbling away, crashing into a nearby tray, the space filling with the loud clatter of medical instruments falling to the floor.

Vegeta's head spins, nausea turning in his gut, and he shoves it away.

“I'm fucking in charge of our unit. I'm your prince, and I say we're going on mission.” He repeats after a long moment, his ki dispersing. “Tell Raditz if he's well enough that he can join us. If not, he can stay here. I don't give a fuck. And don't ever... ever question my orders again Nappa. You understand?”

The big man stares back at him a moment, confused and mute, and Vegeta snaps at him again.

“Understand!?”

“Y-yeah... Yeah Vegeta. I understand.” Nappa at last mutters.

Doesn't give him a chance to say anything else. Neither of them. Forces his step steady as he walks out of the medbay.

“I'll be in our rooms.” He says, not turning to address anyone.

Says nothing else as he walks away.


	20. Chapter 20

He wakes violently, a sense of terrifying dread clamping down on his heart as he starts up. For a moment, he doesn't remember where he is, doesn't know what's happened.

Thinks, for a sickening instant, that he's back on Planet 79. That Frieza was... was...

“You're awake.” 

His head jerks to the side, sees the woman standing there in a doorway, a tray of food held in her hands.

Remembers where he is then... Remembers what happened.

With his memory comes the pain, a burning tear running across the length of his back, and he barely swallows down the hollow gasp which tries to break past his teeth, not quite able to keep the discomfort from his face.

“You shouldn't move.” Bulma says, coming into the room finally and stepping towards him.

She sets the tray down on a nightstand and in a moment is at his side, her soft hands pushing gently against his shoulders.

“You've got about a hundred stitches in your back. We couldn't get a hold of any Senzu. It'll take about a week for them to grow. So I'm afraid your stuck like this until then.”

She pauses, her eyes intently on him, and he can hear the anger in her voice, the disappointment.

“You can't train before then.” She says like a command, and Vegeta looks away from her, a wash of warring emotions rendering him silent.

Angry. Angry at her for daring to tell him what he can and can't do. Disgust at himself, that he would again end up like this. Infirm and in need of care. Ashamed... that she should see him like this...

“Lie back down.” She tells him when he resists her efforts to push him back.

“... Let me alone.” He says, his voice cracked and weak, refusing to yield. 

She huffs in plain frustration, pulling back and standing over him, glaring.

“Why do you have to be so goddamned stubborn!?” She snaps. “Vegeta, for fucks sake you almost killed yourself!”

“What the hell do you care!?” Vegeta snaps back, anger getting the better of him now. 

The fuck did this woman thinks she was? He was a fucking prince, she didn't get to say... get to tell him... No one did... not anymore...

He pushes himself from the bed, tearing the IV drip from his arm as he does so. Manages somehow to keep his shaking knees from collapsing under him.  
Bulma starts, seeming shocked.

“Vegeta, no!” She half gasps, reaching out and grabbing hold of his wrist, as if she could actually stop him. “What are you doing? You can't...”

He pulls out of her grip, shoves past her.

Couldn't do this anymore. Couldn't allow her distraction, couldn't... 

“Vegeta, please!”

Needed to get away from here... Needed to get away from her... 

Wasn't getting any stronger like this. Wasn't ever going to get any stronger. Was always going to be too weak... going to be useless.

Suddenly she's in front of him, her hands pressing against his bare chest, trying to shove him back. Leaning nearly all her weight into him. He starts, freezing, taken aback.

“You can't, Vegeta, please.” She pleads, voice turning desperate. “You'll kill yourself.”

He scowls at her, reaching up and pulling her hands down. Gentle though. Had to be gentle.

“What does it matter to you?” He asks. Doesn't know. Doesn't know why she should care at all if he lives or dies.

“It just does! Damn it Vegeta! I fucking care about you, alright?! I don't want you to die!”

Didn't matter. Didn't matter any which way. Was never meant to live long anyhow. Not him. Shoulda' been dead a long time ago, probably. Had already died once...

“Leave me alone.” He says, eyes sliding away from her pained face, looking past her. Didn't need that. Didn't need her pity.

Pushes past her again, pushes her off now when she tries to stop him.

“You know what!?” Hears her scream at his back. “Fuck you then! I don't care! Go ahead and k-kill yourself for all I care!”

Something light hits his back, like a pillow. Doesn't matter. Keeps going.

Didn't belong here. Never really had.

//

It's familiar, being alone out here, among the vast endlessness of space. Had always been like this, even when Nappa and Raditz had traveled at his side. Always separate, always on their own among the billions of near and distant stars, voices tinny and far away through the comm links.

Vegeta had always felt that. Always felt like the only thing alive when they'd traveled to whatever world they'd been assigned.

Always was a shock, when they would touch down and he would see Nappa and Raditz there, living, breathing... real. Thought, sometimes, he imagined them there, a figment of his imagination.

Like often happened now.

Vegeta knows that's probably not a good sign. That he hallucinates Nappa and Raditz. Holds entire conversations with two people who aren't really there.

Long as he knows they aren't really there, he guesses, he should be alright. Hopes so, anyway.

Wonders a lot what they would think of him now, really. What they would think of the life he was living. This new docility he'd been struck with.

Probably be ashamed. Probably be ashamed of a lot of things about him.

Guesses he was lucky neither of them lived long enough to see what he's become. Unless they could see him from hell. But what did that matter, either way? They were dead, and couldn't tell him anything.

The hallucinations of them tell him what they think. Sometimes they sneer at him with expressions of disgust and hatred.

“Look at you.” Nappa says. “Fucking disgraceful. Can't even call yourself a proper Saiyan no more, let alone our prince.”

“What are you doing fuckin' around with that bitch on that planet for Vegeta?” Raditz tells him. “Don't you care that those bastards killed me? Why haven't you blown the whole stinking backwater to dust? Why've you become so weak?”

“When'd you get so soft Vegeta?” Nappa again. 

“When did you become such a coward?”

“Shut up.” Vegeta says to the air, and looks away.

Didn't have any answers for them anyway. Didn't know the answers himself.

He'd left Earth some two weeks ago, by their time. Doesn't know how long it's been out here.

The woman had tried contacting him a few times. Ignored her. Didn't want to talk. Didn't know what to say to her anyhow.

Didn't bring enough food. Ran out about three days ago. Had managed to scrounge some stuff together on a little dwarf planet he'd stopped over on. Seemed uninhabited, but there'd been plenty of vegetation and some fish which he'd been able to catch. 

Didn't know what he was doing, really. 

Training. Been plenty of that. 

Encountered a few more stragglers from Frieza's directionless army. Had gotten some good work in on them.

Kinda fun, seeing the looks of horror on their faces when they saw him. Good to know he still scared some people. Done enough in his life to build up a fearful reputation. Everyone had been afraid of him, 'cept Ginyu and his gang, and Zarbon and Dodoria. And Cui. Funny that. He'd ended up killing all of them, except Ginyu. That fucker had ended up with a fate worse than death anyway. Wishes he coulda' killed Frieza. Won't ever stop wishing that, he guesses. Not many others in Frieza's army had ever crossed him, besides those bastards. Knew he was dangerous, most of 'em. Guesses all the rest found out just how much.

Soldiers didn't believe him ever, when he told them Frieza was dead. Guesses news traveled slow between galaxies. Didn't matter. Made sure they joined their former leader soon enough.

Thinks about Bulma while he's killing, sometimes. Doesn't like that. Doesn't like how he can see her terror stricken face. Doesn't like the disgust he imagines in her eyes.

Doesn't stop him anyway. 

Bastards would kill him just as quick, if they could.

“Why don't ya talk to the woman?” Nappa again, and Vegeta grits his teeth, irritated, keeping his eyes locked on the progress screen in front of him. “Com'on little man. You know you miss her! Finally get yourself some pussy and you're runnin' away now?!”

“I thought I told you to shut the fuck up.” Vegeta hisses, refusing to look at the apparition in his periphery. If he'd known Nappa was going to harass him this much when he was dead, he never would have killed him. 

“Can't make your own mind shut up Veggie.” Nappa laughs, and Vegeta wishes he could punch him. 

“... I don't want to talk to her.” He finally gives up, answering. “I need to get stronger. She would only distract me from it.”

“So you can become a Super Saiyan?” Raditz says from his other side, and Vegeta turns, glaring at him.

Misses Raditz a lot, he thinks. Misses how he used to be able to talk to him.

“That's right.” He answers after a moment. “... It's just a matter of focus. I need to concentrate more.”

That was bullshit, he thinks. He didn't know what it was. Kakarott told him it was anger, but he was always angry. How was he supposed to channel that when he could hardly ever feel anything else? When all he ever felt other was humiliation and loneliness?

Raditz grins at him.

“I think you need to relax Vegeta. You're too strung out.”

“And you're an idiot.” Vegeta snaps back. “It's that lackadaisical attitude of yours that got you killed in the first place.”

That wipes the grin off of Raditz' face.

“Well if you hadn't sent me to Earth to convince my shithead little brother to join in your non-rebellion, I wouldn't be dead either.” He says flatly, staring hard at Vegeta, until Vegeta finds himself having to look away, sick guilt churning in the pit of his stomach.

Shouldn't have sent Raditz to Earth alone. Just hadn't thought... hadn't thought he would get into trouble like he had.

Remembers acting like he didn't care to Nappa. Doesn't know why he did that. Guesses he'd been angry. Didn't understand why Raditz would let himself get killed like that. Been angry at him for leaving him like that. Been really angry.

Knew it was just him and Nappa then. Just the two of them. Knew he wasn't going to be able to break free from Frieza. Knew he'd have to go back, unless...

Then he'd thought of those dragon ball things, had gotten the idea... Stupid. Whole thing had been stupid and desperate.

“... I'm sorry Raditz.” He says, staring down at his big, ugly monkey hands lying limp in his lap. “I miss you... Miss you too Nappa. I'm sorry I killed you.”

“It's alright little man.” Nappa says. “'Sides, we'll see you again when you get to hell.” 

Vegeta can't help but smirk at that.

He was going to hell. Knew that well enough. Guesses he would see Nappa and Raditz when he got there. Didn't think they'd be too happy to see him though.

“You should talk to your girlfriend.” Raditz says.

Absurdly Vegeta feels embarrassed.

“She's not my girlfriend.” He says, and Raditz laughs.

“Oh yeah? Then what would you call her?”

Vegeta doesn't know what he would call Bulma.

She wasn't any kind of a prostitute. Wasn't selling herself in any way to him. She was...

He doesn't know. Doesn't know what she is.

“... She's just...” he stutters out, and he knows he's only really talking to himself, but it feels nice, pretending Raditz and Nappa are there. Feels almost real. 

“What?” Nappa pushes. 

“... Just a woman.” Vegeta answers weakly.

Nappa laughs like he would have in life, slapping his muscular thigh.

“A woman that you're fuckin'!” He howls, and Vegeta feels bizarrely defensive, turning and baring his teeth at the imaginary big man. 

“Shut the hell up.” He warns. “Don't talk about her like that!”

Ridiculous. He was scolding an imagined Nappa for talking about Bulma in a derogatory manner. Scolding himself, in reality, for thinking of her that way.

Maybe he really was finally losing his mind.

Would make sense.

Hasn't been right in a long time. Knows that. Maybe never had been.

Doubts all those beatings he took helped.

Only so many times you could take your brain smashing against the inside of your skull before it had consequences, after all.

“Maybe she wants to dump ya.” Nappa keeps talking. “Wouldn't blame her, really. What's his name's a lot better lookin' than you.”

Yamcha.

Knew that already. 

Thinks, to Bulma, he must look like an ugly little troll compared to him.

“He's weak.” Vegeta argues. “The weakest of all of them. Fucking pathetic.”

“That's true.” Raditz nods. “Didn't he get taken out by a Saibamen?”

“Yes.” Vegeta nods, stupid pride swelling his chest at the memory. 

He'd been able to take out whole squads of those nasty little fuckers when he'd been hardly more than a toddler.

“What good's a man like that?” Raditz goes on. “Doesn't matter if he's handsome, if he's weak.”

“Yeah, but you ran out on her little man.” Nappa cuts in. “Women don't like that. Take it from someone with experience.”

Doesn't want to hear this, to think about it. 

Didn't want to think about Bulma giving up on him... taking Yamcha back... Didn't want that at all.

She had to understand, he thinks. To understand why he had to leave. 

He'd come back... some day. 

Just hoped he had somewhere to go still when he did. Didn't know what he'd do if she didn't want him there anymore...

“Approaching planet designation 28742.” The ships pleasantly toned female voice comes over the intercom, informing him of his current projected destination. “Scans show an atmosphere of 18 percent oxygen, 87 percent nitrogen, negligent percentages of carbon dioxide and argon. Suitable for breathing. Heavy vegetation. No other detectable lifeforms. Surface consists of 47 percent water, 53 percent land.”

Suitable for breathing, suitable for training. If he was lucky, some of the plant life would prove edible. 

“Confirm.” He tells the computer, sitting back in his seat and crossing his arms over his chest.

He closes his eyes, ignoring the burning feel of Nappa and Raditz' gaze still on him.

//

“So the son of a bitch ran out on you again, huh? Why am I not surprised.”

Bulma grits her teeth, fingers digging into her scalp as she leans her head into her hands, elbows on her work table.

She wishes, more than anything in that moment, that Yamcha would just fuck off.

“I mean, it's typical of him at this point, isn't it?” He just keeps talking, apparently oblivious to her overwhelming agitation as he takes a seat across from her. “How many times has it been now that he's done this? I don't know why...”

“Yamcha!” She snaps his name, cutting him off as she lifts her head and glares at him. He's got a stupid look on his face. Almost a shocked look. “Why are you here? I don't remember inviting you over.”

Typical Yamcha. His shocked expression morphs into his usual, charming, sheepish grin, body all floppy and cute as he shrugs his broad shoulders.

That act might have worked on her when she'd been younger. She wasn't falling for it for a second now.

“I was worried about you.” He says, and she thinks that's bullshit. More likely he came to gloat. “I was going to say I don't know why you're doing this to yourself. It was a hug mistake hooking up with a guy like that. Bulma, he's bad news.”

“So were you, once.” Bulma says, already bored with the conversation.

Yamcha half laughs, half scoffs.

“Not like that. Bulma, you know I was never even a fraction as bad as Vegeta.”

Okay, so that was true. Yamcha had been a delinquent, had gotten into some bad stuff, but he'd never really set out to hurt anybody. Not really.

“Baby, liste...”

“Don't call me baby Yamcha. We're not together anymore. And we aren't ever going to be again. You had your chance.” 

That pulls him up short, and she knows then that he'd come around hoping this was his opportunity. His chance to sweep in and steal her back.

When the cat's away, the mice will play, she thinks in her mind, and she looks away, disgusted.

God, she wishes Vegeta would come back.

The complete asshole.

It had been nearly a month, and no fucking word. No sign even. Just took the space ship she'd built and took off without so much as saying goodbye, or even telling her he was going.

She'd been so pissed at first, she'd barely been able to speak. Had torn her room apart in impotent rage, and then felt like a total idiot afterward. 

Eventually, after the first week, her anger had once again started to change into anxiety and concern. She kept thinking of him all alone out there in the middle of space. There were so many dangerous beings in the universe, and who knew how many enemies he really had. 

Logically, she knew, Vegeta could handle himself. Not many people who could actually hurt him, she thinks. Or at least, she keeps telling herself that. But still... she can't help but worry.

She'd kept trying to contact him, trying to patch through to his ship at least once a day. But he just wasn't answering. Her only consolation was that she was at least getting a signal read out from his ship's tracker and communication center, so she knew it was still working and hadn't been destroyed.

That didn't tell her if he was alright though. For all she knew, he could have been killed and his ship left in tact, and that's why she wasn't getting a response.

Gods, just thinking about it makes her blood pressure spike, a sick knot of fear sitting unrelenting in the pit of her stomach.

She shouldn't have snapped at him the way she had, before. Shouldn't have pushed him. 

But what the hell was she supposed to do?! 

It wasn't her fault he was so unreasoning. Wasn't her fault he couldn't control his childish temper tantrums.

He was completely insane, pushing himself the way he did. Was going to get himself killed, one of these days. She couldn't just sit back and watch that happen. She couldn't hold her tongue. It was like he just didn't know any better. Didn't even know enough to give himself a chance to heal.

She wonders what it is that made him like that. What sort of circumstances in his life had lead him to having so little regard for his own well being? What sort of desperation?

Most of the time, she thinks she doesn't ever want to know.

And now she had her douche bag ex to deal with, on top of everything else.

Yamcha had a good heart, underneath it all. And part of her knows he really was concerned for her, and so she couldn't be entirely angry at him. 

The same part of her knows that he really was trying to take advantage though, and that part let her be as angry as she pleased. 

Out of everyone she knew, Yamcha had taken the news that she and Vegeta were seeing each other the hardest, even as Yamcha had been the first to really realize there was some sort of connection going on between the two of them.

His first instinct, she knew, would have been to go find the guy that thought he could move in on his territory and beat the living hell out of him.

But Yamcha couldn't do that with Vegeta, and Bulma knows that in itself had left Yamcha feeling humiliated and angry. 

His hatred for Vegeta had reached new levels after her reveal, and she knew she had to be careful then about him possibly trying to do something. What, she had no idea. Possibly trying to drive a wedge of some kind between the two of them.

Kind of like he was doing right now.

“Well why the hell are you with him Bulma?” He's saying, voice pitching slightly higher in his obvious frustration. “He's deranged. You know that, don't you?”

“And why are you trying so hard to convince me Yamcha?!” She spits, feeling her patience run rapidly dry. “It wouldn't be because you're hoping I'll dump him and come running back to you, is it?”

His feigned shock only pisses her off more.

“Of course not! Bulma, I'm just worried. We all are.”

“Oh, here we go...” she rolls her eyes.

“It's true. Bulma, I don't know what's been going on between the two of you, or... or what you see in him. But the truth is, he came here to destroy our planet and all of us with it. It's only because Goku beat his ass that that didn't happen. You can't trust someone like that Bulma. He's a killer. He's probably killed whole planets of people. Millions, maybe billions! Do you even realize what that means?”

She realized.

She'd realized from the start.

But Vegeta wasn't a bad man. That's what none of them understood.

His actions had been evil. She wouldn't try to deny that to herself or to anyone.

But his actions didn't necessarily speak to who he actually was. It was so easy to judge someone. So easy to just assume about a person based on the things they'd done, without ever bothering to look at what might have caused them to do those things in the first place.

Vegeta hadn't told her much, but Bulma was smart enough to perceive beyond what he had with the information he'd shared, and the behavior he showed.

His life with Frieza and his tyrannical rule had been one of utter desperation. A struggle for survival, day to day. 

He displayed to her so many blatantly obvious patterns of post traumatic stress disorder. She didn't have to be a doctor of psychiatry to see that. Anyone could. He was wrecked, and a person didn't just get that way from nothing. Bad things had happened to him. She didn't need to know what specifically to know that, whatever those things had been, they'd likely messed him up for life.

She was sick of everyone telling her she was crazy. Sick of everyone trying to convince her that Vegeta was this evil man, when she knew he wasn't.

If his actions had been evil, if he was traumatized and charmless and sometimes brutish, unpredictable and scary... he was also at times painfully sweet and shy, witty and deeply intelligent, even, when he was relaxed and calm, he could be almost kind. He spoke to her like an equal, like someone who was on his level. There was none of that misogynistic bullshit she usually got from men, thinking, because she was a woman, she couldn't possibly be as intelligent as they were, couldn't possibly have a real PhD, couldn't possibly be a real scientist. She'd gotten that from so many guys, she'd long ago lost count. But Vegeta gave her none of that. She could tell, from the way he looked at her, and spoke to her, that he respected her. 

She felt good around him. Felt like she was finally being listened to, like someone finally saw her. She felt... she felt happy around him.

In a way she doesn't think she's ever felt around anyone else.

Gods, was she in love with him?

“... Bulma... hey, are you listening to me?” 

Yamcha's whining voice brings her out of her thoughts, and she looks up at him.

She'd nearly forgotten he was even there.

“What's with you?” He asks, looking miffed. “You're totally spaced out.”

Bulma sighs, lifting a hand to her face and massaging the bridge of her nose. She really doesn't need this now.

“Yamcha, I'm fine. Can you just... go. I have a lot on my mind and you're distracting me.”

“By a lot on your mind, do you mean him?” He asks pointedly, tone pissed.

“Yes Yamcha, I mean him. I mean Vegeta. I'm worried about him, alright?! I know you and the others don't think he deserves to have anyone give a shit about him, and gee, I don't know, maybe it's that sort of attitude towards him that lead to him becoming so fucked up in the first place! But guess what, I do care, and you and everyone else are just going to have to fucking deal with it!”

She doesn't give him a chance to respond, pushing her chair back and standing, stalking out of the room and leaving him mute and dumb. 

It's an exit Vegeta would be proud of, she thinks, heading for the lab.

She was going to try contacting him again. Would keep trying until he picked up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, all my thanks to everyone who's read and/or reviewed. Your support means so much. And as always, if you have a chance, a review would be hugely appreciated!


	21. Chapter 21

“Lemme put my cloak round ya little man. You're freezin'.” 

“I'm fine.” Vegeta snaps, barely managing to keep his temper in check as Nappa attempts to drape his giant fur cloak over his slim shoulders. Nappa, though, is insistent, despite the threat of rage, and Vegeta has to admit silently to himself that it feels nice, the warmth that almost instantly envelops him, the thick lining and collar of the cape shielding him from the chilled night air. The garment is huge, far too large for his dwarf like frame, but that only adds to its seeming comfort, and after a few, stubborn moments of glaring and acting affronted, Vegeta finds himself grasping the cloaks edges and pulling the cape more tightly round himself.

He'd been shivering, like some absurd weakling, while Nappa and Raditz hadn't seemed the least fazed by the nearly sub-zero temperatures of this gods forsaken hellhole they'd landed on.

Vegeta doesn't have the strength, nor the desire, to shove Nappa away when the big man decides to seat himself at his side, wrapping a massive arm round him, pulling him against his own body. Vegeta should be embarrassed, he thinks, for the way he nearly sinks into Nappa's body heat, nearly cuddling against him.

It's only that he's so cold. Nothing in their mission itenarary had said anything about this planet reaching such cold temperatures at night, and he hadn't prepared accordingly, hadn't packed the proper gear. All he'd had to shield him from the freezing air had been his own, measly cape, its material pathetically thin and ill-equipped to deal with anything below mildly chilly.

Nappa thankfully doesn't say anything, none of his usual teasing remarks about Vegeta's physical defeciencies, just allows the boy to burrow against him, big hand rubbing up and down Vegeta's bare arm, rubbing warmth into his skin.

Raditz's finally turns up, some slaughtered animal slung over his broad shoulders, a big, stupid grin on his stupid face.

“Who's hungry?” He asks, still smiling broadly as he dumps the animal's carcass beside the small fire they'd earlier built.

“Fuckin' starvin'!” Nappa declares loudly. “Took your ass long enough getting here with it.”

“Hey, I'm workin' with unknown terrain here jackass! Just be happy I found anything edible at all. Fuckin' ingrate.”

“Whatever pipsqueak. Just set the spit up and get it cookin'. How long you gonna keep your prince waitin'?”

“You ain't my prince.” Raditz says, smiling still, nodding then to Vegeta. “That deformed midget there's my prince, and I'll set the spit up when he tells me to.”

“Your head's shaped like an overgrown tackey fruit Raditz.” Vegeta snipes back. Only he can't quite keep his own grin from his lips, even as he tries to glare back at the older boy. “Now do what Nappa tells you and make our food.”

Raditz laughs, moving to the task.

“Yes your highness.” He says, and Vegeta reaches down, wrapping his small hand round a stone and lobbing it at Raditz's head.

Radtiz dodges, still chuckling, as he sets to work.

Vegeta grumbles under his breath, pulling Nappa's cloak tighter and pressing against the big man's side, falling quiet.

The three of them don't say anything to each other for a while, the only sound filling the quiet that of the burning wood of their fire and Raditz's busy work preparing their food and dishes.

As usual, the mutual teasing between them had only managed to lift Vegeta's spirits a moment before the feeling died away again, replaced by the familiar lowness he'd been experiencing more and more lately.

He misses Father.

Had acted like he didn't care, after first embarrassing himself with his snot nosed crying. Had acted angry instead.

Was angry, still. Was angry at Father. Angry at him for lying. He'd promised. He'd promised he'd come, would take back their home, their power. Would take Vegeta out of this hellish existence. All that had been lies. And then he'd gone and gotten himself killed.

Vegeta feels his eyes sting still whenever he allows himself to think about that. Shouldn't cry. A true warrior wouldn't cry. Would just deal with it and move on.

Only hurts so much, when he thinks about Father. Thinks about his face, his voice. The way he smelled. Can still remember all that like Father was sitting right there in front of him.

Had been so sure, had convinced himself that Father would find him again. Would take him home. Been so sure of that...

He reaches up, the cold air stinging the naked skin of his arm as he rubs the heel of his palm roughly over his eyes, turning his face away from Nappa and Raditz. 

The two of them don't say anything, but they see. Vegeta knows they do.

He's so weak. Wishes he could stop caring. Wishes he didn't feel anything at all.

“So what's the plan?” Raditz's voice breaks his thoughts apart and Vegeta looks up, seeing the older boy holding a plat of cooked meat out to him.

He takes it, greedily bringing the hunk of meat to his lips and tearing a chunk off with his sharp teeth. He's starving. Hadn't eaten since the day before, and only the pathetically insubstantial canteen meal they were allowed free at base.

He devours half the hunk of meat before answering Radtiz's question.

“We stick together on this one. The majority of their resisting forces are accumulated North of here, about two hundred clicks. No major power readouts, negligable ki readings with marginally advanced weapons technology. Their biggest advantage is in their numbers. Their forces are estimated at nearly a hundred thousand, but we shouldn't run into much trouble if we hit them hard and fast.”

Raditz groans loudly, throwing his head back.

“Man, can't we just blow the planet up? A hundred thousand... fuck...”

Vegeta shakes his head, frustrated and angry. A sick knot of anxiety coils in his belly and he isn't sure where it's coming from.

“No. Frieza needs the planet in tact. It's a designated resort location, with ideal environmental features attractive to interested buyers. If we blow it up, forget about not getting paid. We're dead.”

“I know, I know. I'm just kidding Vegeta.” Raditz whines, and Vegeta suppresses the suddenly powerful urge to hit him.

“We don't fuck around on this one Raditz. We need credits.” He snaps, his temper veering dangerously higher.

Raditz seems to finally pick up on it, throwing his hands up in surrender.

“I know.” He says, voice at last somber. “Don't worry.”

Vegeta says nothing to that, glaring at the older boy a moment more before turning his attention back to his food.

Anxiety wouldn't loosen, didn't know why. Uneasy feeling tight in his throat. 

Stupid, he thinks. Was just paranoid. Nappa was always telling him he worried too much. Just had shot nerves from everything... probably.

Nappa and Raditz are talking to each other. Not really listening to them. Let them talk. Needed to study the layout he'd been provided of the opposing forces, figure out if there was any way better to approach the situation, if there was anything he was missing.

His job, as team leader. Their safety his responsibility.

Didn't like this uneasy feeling. Tries to ignore it.

Nothing, probably. It was probably nothing...

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Cold here on this planet. Had been able to tell it would be, round mid afternoon. Experienced enough different environments to tell what kinds got bitter at night.

Didn't bother him, too much. Hadn't for a long time. Not the way the cold had used to bother him as a boy.

Still didn't like it much though, and he huddles closer to the small fire he'd built, folding his arms round himself and staring blankly into the flames.

Quiet here too. Just the sound of insects and the burning wood, and he thinks of Nappa and Raditz again.

Missions like this, the sound of their conversation always used to fill the silence. Hadn't realized how used to it he'd grown, until they were gone. Didn't realize how much it had used to make him feel more solid, more real. Made him feel not so alone.

He was alone now. Felt like any other being must be a billion miles away.

Stomach hurt too. Hadn't had enough to eat in a long time. Had grown stupidly soft, living at the woman's home, having food available to him every day. Had gotten used to the feeling of a full stomach. Started to forget what it felt like to be hungry. Stupid, how fast you forgot those things, even when you'd been living with it most of your whole life.

Same with the intercourse.

Hadn't ever thought much about it, before. Hadn't cared really. Never needed much to find out what all the fuss was about.

Thought about it all the time now. Thought about Bulma. Thought about her hands on him. Thought about kissing her a lot. Thinks he liked kissing her best.

Couldn't help touching himself sometimes, thinking about her. Always felt ashamed when he did. Didn't feel as good, without her. Felt worse, out here on weird, alien planets, no one around. Felt dirtier, somehow. 

Wonders if she was thinking of him, wonders if she was touching herself the same way, thinking of him.

Dangerous thoughts, those. Thoughts like those what led him to giving in to his filthy urges in the first place.

Thinks about her face. Thinks about how beautiful she is. So beautiful. Her eyes, especially. Her eyes were beautiful. Intelligent and feeling. Her smile, which was kind. Sometimes ironic. Almost always kind though, when she looked at him.

Thinks about their conversation too. Misses it. Misses her voice. The clever things she says. How smart she is. The way she can almost make him laugh, if for nothing else than for her gall. 

Even away from her, she was proving a distraction. Couldn't understand it. Didn't know what was wrong with him. Why he couldn't stop thinking of her.

Made him think of Kakarott too. Kept thinking of Kakarott training, already so much stronger than him. Would only be getting stronger still.

Each day passed, and he remained as he was. Each night he fell asleep thinking of failure. Certainty growing stronger each morning that he would fail again. Would always fail. Couldn't tell if anything was working. Didn't know what would.

Didn't think he'd have the courage to return to Earth, if he failed. Didn't think he would have the courage to face Kakarott, or Bulma. Kakarott already felt sorry for him, Vegeta knows.

Thinking of it makes vision turn red, feels himself trembling with rage, just thinking of it.

Thinks how dare... how dare that lower class pleebian look down on him, how dare he hold himself above him as if... as if he were actually better. As if Vegeta would ever want or need his pity.

Buries his fingers in his hair, tears at his scalp. Calm... he needs to calm down. Even, deep breaths.

“Come on little man, just follow me. That's it. Easy. In... out. In... out...”

Nappa smiles at him from across the fire, and Vegeta nearly chokes on his strained lungs, trying to remember... Easy... easy... deep breaths... Had to stay calm. Couldn't... couldn't let himself lose it.

Got stupid when he lost it. Got reckless and useless. Couldn't...

Starts to breathe better finally, easier... Fingers loosen, pain through his scalp goes...

Had to control it. Bad things happened when he couldn't. Had to remember...

Blinks at the fire, flames coming back into focus. Remembers where he is.

He shakes his head, clearing his thoughts.

No... He would show them all. He would show them he could do it. Would surpass Kakarott.

He was the number one Saiyan. He was.

Father had told him so.

And Father wouldn't lie...

//

Bulma wakes in sheer panic, half a scream trapped in her throat, eyes wide and vibrating as they stare out into the darkened room.

It takes much too long for her to realize it had only been a dream.

An awful, horrifying dream.

Vegeta... she'd seen Vegeta killed. Seen him torn apart by some faceless, black figure. Heard his voice made brittle and wrecked by his own, agonized screams.

She'd been there, watching it, her own voice trapped in her throat as she'd tried desperately calling to him, her body frozen in useless paralysis, unable to help. Unable to do anything.

Tears fill her eyes then, slipping quick and hot down her cheeks, and she wipes them viciously away.

She still hadn't heard from Vegeta. These nightmares were becoming more and more frequent, the lingering impact of them on her daily ability to focus and work worsening.

It was becoming unbearable, this constant anxiety and fear. She doesn't know where he is, if he's alright at all... if he's even alive.

She tries to tell herself of course he is. He's a warrior, and a survivor. He wouldn't have made it through almost thirty years of living under Frieza's thumb just to up and get himself killed randomly.

That's what she keeps telling herself.

She shakes her head, turning her eyes blearily to the clock on her nightstand.

5:22 AM. Great. She'd barely slept four hours. Still, she knows she isn't going to be getting to bed again, and so she might as well get up.

Wrapping herself in her nightgown, she leaves her bedroom and heads for the kitchen. She isn't going to be able to focus on anything until she clears her head a little with a cup of coffee.

Even thinking of that brings her thoughts back to Vegeta though. 

He'd begun drinking coffee thanks to her, had gotten nearly as addicted to it as she was.

She remembers the first time he'd tried it, the way his face had scrunched up from the bitterness, but how he'd forced himself to swallow anyway.

He'd stayed away from it for several days following, and Bulma had been surprised when he'd asked for “that black drink” one day at breakfast.

He'd been hooked since, and it made Bulma smile, to think, in some small way, she'd managed to domesticate him, though she wasn't stupid or arrogant enough to think his picking up one or two of her habits meant she had control of him, or could even influence him in any way significant.

Still, she couldn't be entirely disregarded by him, if he was imitating her, even in something so small.

Her thoughts are broken apart as she walks into the kitchen and she sees her farther there, rummaging through the fridge.

“Hi Dad.” She announces and he straightens up in surprise, smiling broadly as he turns and sees her.

“Sweetheart! You're up awful early!” 

“You too.” She answers, moving towards where they keep the boxes of cereal.

“Well you know me dear.” He says, grabbing up a dish from last nights dinner and closing the fridge door. “Always early to rise. But what's the matter, you couldn't sleep?”

“No.” She admits flatly, pouring herself a bowl and preparing the coffee machine.

“More bad dreams?” He asks after a moment.

Bulma sighs, staring listlessly at the dark liquid as it starts to sputter into the pot.

She'd confessed to her Mom and Dad that she'd been suffering nightmares lately, most of them revolving around Vegeta.

It was just, she'd felt so lonely lately, and had needed someone to talk to.

There was no point in denying it now.

“Yeah,” she says finally, pouring herself and Dad a cup of coffee and making her way over to the breakfast table, handing him his cup and taking a seat across from him.

“You wanna talk about it?” He asks, his attention fixed on her. Bulma appreciates his concern. She always knew with her parents that it was never false, or forced. They really cared.

It makes her wonder about Vegeta's own parents. Who they were. If they ever loved him at all. Bulma couldn't imagine any situation in which either her mother or father would ever willingly give her up to the hands of a cruel and merciless slave trader and tyrant. 

She doesn't know if that's what happened to Vegeta. He hadn't told her anything about who his parents were, or what they were like. All she could do was assume. He'd told her he'd been under Frieza's rule since he'd been three or four years old. So something had happened...

She shrugs, pressing her palms against the warm cyramic of her coffee mug, staring down at the dark liquid.

“Just more of the same.” She says quietly. “... I'm worried about him, I guess.”

“Of course you are sweetheart. We all are.” Her Dad answers.

“Pff, maybe you and Mom. Nobody else seems to give much of a shit.” She replies bitterly.

That was true. None of her friends had really come around asking about Vegeta. Only Yamcha had really said anything at all about his leaving, and that was mostly an attempt to squirm his way back into being Bulma's boyfriend.

“Well that's enough, isn't it?” Her Dad says. “Vegeta's a sweet boy. It's just not everyone can see that, because he hides it. He's a hurt kid. That's what hurt kid's do. They hide their feelings, because they've been used against them their whole lives.”

Bulma looks up at him.

“You really think so?” She asks, a little shocked. 

That's what she thought of Vegeta, and what her Mom thought too. But she'd never heard her Dad say anything like that.

He nods back at her, taking a sip of his coffee before continuing.

“Sure. Of course. He's a little rough around the edges and can be a little intense. But he's a good kid. Smart too, and curious. And he's good to you. I know his running off is hard on you Bulma, but I don't think he means for it to be. He's just scared. He's never been with anyone, and it's going to take some time.”

Bulma can't help but smile, reaching across the table and grasping her father's hand, squeezing it.

“Thanks Dad. It means a lot to me, to hear you say that. So many other people keep telling me how crazy I am to be with Vegeta, to even care about him.”

“Don't worry about what anyone else thinks sweetheart. It's what your own hearts tells you that matters. You can see the goodness in that boy, the same as your mother and I can. He could be something really special, if only someone would give him a chance to be. I think you can be that person for him Bulma.”

Bulma can't help the sting of tears which comes suddenly to her eyes, and she reaches up, wiping at them.

“Thanks Dad. I can't... just... thanks for saying that.”

“It's just the truth. And please don't worry too much dear. I know it's scary, not hearing from him, or knowing where he is. But Vegeta's a survivor, and he's strong. I'm sure he's alright. And he'll come back to you when he's ready.”

“God, I hope so.” Bulma says, giving her father's hand another squeeze. “I really do hope so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, all my thanks to all my readers and reviewers! You guys are awesome and I hope you're still enjoying the story. Let me know your thoughts if you have a chance!


	22. Chapter 22

There's an explosion of white behind his eyes and a high pitched ringing deafening his ears. Pain ratchets through his jaw into the base of his skull and down his spine.

He's going down. He knows he is. Still, it seems to take forever before he feels the ground crash against his battered body, fresh pain lancing through him with the harsh impact.

He swallows down the sharp gasp which tries to push past his lips, forcing his voice into an angry snarl as he struggles back up to his feet.

The world tilts dangerously, his equilibrium still thrown off, and he nearly goes down again, just managing to keep his footing as his eyes struggle to adjust and focus again.

He forces himself into a defensive stance, expecting another attack.

Recoome stands in front of him, his face split into a wide grin, Jeice at his right, smiling too.

“Come on Veggie, you can do better than that!” Recoome laughs. “I ain't even trying here, short stack.”

Anger erupts in his chest, and unthinking, Vegeta condenses his ki into the palm of his hand, roaring as he lashes it out towards the towering man before him.

Recoome smacks the attack aside as easily as he would an insect, smirking down at the Saiyan.

“Still not good enough boy.”

Vegeta feels his face heat, from anger or embarrassment, he doesn't know.

He's no one's boy. 

He's twenty years old now. He's fully matured, fully grown.

It was every day he found himself mistaken for a child.

Recoome knew he was a man though. He referred to him as a boy for no reason other than to antagonize him. Vegeta understood that. It didn't make his anger any less.

He'd hoped, when he had been younger, that he would grow tall and muscular like both Nappa and Raditz were. Like... like his own father had been.

He remembers asking Nappa about it incessantly over the years. Wanting to know, as each year passed, and he failed to grow any taller, when he would, if he ever would.

Nappa had indulged him for as long as he could, telling Vegeta that he was sure to get bigger soon. To not worry so much over it. After all, he possessed a higher battle power than both him and Raditz combined, and physical size really didn't matter when it came to strength.

But still, it was a point of pride, and though Vegeta tried to tell himself he didn't care, that it didn't matter... he was, in truth, embarrassed by the petite size of his own form.

It had become clear, when he was sixteen years of age, and still had not grown past the height of either Nappa's or Raditz's waists, that he would never grow any taller. Both his comrades had grown to their full heights by that same age, and Nappa himself had at last given up the weak charade and placation’s, telling Vegeta the truth. He was small. He would always be small.

The commander had told him of his mother then. Of how she had been an unusually small woman. Perhaps five feet in height, but no more. That was where Vegeta's short stature had come from.

Vegeta had never known her. Not really. His memories vague and fleeting, before she'd taken her second child, his brother, and left for another world.

“But she was a powerful warrior, just like you Vegeta.” Nappa had explained. “That's why your father chose her as his mate. There's no shame you should be feeling.”

Vegeta wasn't ashamed. Not of his mother, or of the physical traits he had inherited from her. It was only...

Another means of humiliation.

Dirty, filthy, savage little beast. This one's even deformed. Stunted. Wasn't he supposed to be a prince? Wasn't he supposed to be a superior specimen? A shining example of his people? 

His people, who were all dead now. 

Only the three of them left. Only him, and Nappa, and Raditz.

He's hit hard across the face, and he scolds himself internally for his allowing himself to become so distracted. Not that it would have truly mattered.

He was no match for Recoome. No match for any of the Ginyu force. Still even. Still.

He's given only a moment before another blow lands against the opposite side of his face, knocking him back against the wall, and almost instantly, he feels Recoome's thick, massive palm press against his throat, constricting his air, powerful fingers curling round to the back of his neck and lifting him from the floor, pinning him back against the wall.

Instinctively, Vegeta reaches up, trying to pry the hold loose.

Recoome laughs, only tightening his grip, and Vegeta gasps.

“Careful Recoom, you know how tricky monkey's can be.” Jeice says somewhere far off.

Recoome says something in return, but Vegeta can't make it out.

He's going to suffocate if he can't get out of the bastard's hold.

He'd been on his way back from giving a report to Frieza detailing their latest purge mission. And as his interactions with Frieza always managed, he'd been left feeling angry and helpless and disgusted. He should have been used to it by now, the mocking, prodding insults of those two idiotic lap dogs, or the creeping, unwanted caresses of their master, the honey sweet lies dripping from his serpents tongue. It was a manipulation. Vegeta knew that. Had known that since he was a child. Zarbon and Dodoria pitting themselves in the role of villain, Frieza placing himself as the counterpoint, the benevolent, kind, understanding savior.

Only the facade was thin. Whenever Frieza put his cold and clammy hands upon Vegeta in some mockery of gentle kindness, the prince shuddered with repulsion and dismay, a sense of shameful violation filling him complete. And whatever pretty lies the tyrant lizard spoke, whatever empty placation’s and hollow promises, those lies were shattered when Frieza inevitably lost his temper and his gentle touch turned violent and hateful, the true depth of his contempt for the Saiyan race filtering through unchecked.

It was Vegeta he hated most of all. 

Frieza knew his power. Knew what it could become.

He would never allow it.

It had been as Vegeta was heading back to the small quarters he shared with Nappa and Raditz that the two members of Ginyu's elite force had cornered him in this corridor, fucking with him for no reason other than the amusement it brought them.

Vegeta's pride hadn't allowed him to try and talk himself out of a confrontation, like Raditz might have attempted.

He'd told them to go fuck themselves, and he'd been paying for it for the last ten minutes.

The situation was growing desperate then, as Recoome's hand round his throat squeezed incrementally tighter, and black spots began dotting Vegeta's vision. He was going to die here if he didn't get out.

Blindly then, he lashes out, knowing what he's aiming for.

He feels it a moment later, and he grins viciously despite his depleting oxygen.

He squeezes with all his strength over Recoome's scrotum, and watches with relished satisfaction as the giant man's face twists in immediate, shocked agony.

It has the desired effect, Recoom losing his grip round Vegeta's throat.

The Saiyan falls to the ground, choking and spluttering for air as Recoome stumbles back from him, grabbing at his crotch.

Vegeta knows he doesn't have a lot of time. Doesn't have time to try and catch his breath. Jeice is there. Vegeta can hear him saying something, can hear the anger in his voice, and he knows he has to go now, he has to run.

He staggers to his feet, gasping desperately as he tries to pull air into his lungs. If he can just make it to a more populated area, he can lose them in the crowd maybe, throw their scouters off...

He stumbles forward, his vision doubling on him. Jeice is there, blocking the way, and for an instant, panic explodes in Vegeta's chest. 

They're going to kill him. 

He tries forcing his way past the man, only he doesn't get very far, Jeice taking advantage of his slowed and clumsy movement, turning and driving an elbow into Vegeta's face as he tries to move past. The blow sends him onto his back, and he isn't given any kind of a chance to recover. Jeice is on top of him in an instant, straddling his hips and reaching out, grasping hold of his wrists before he can try to defend himself and pinning them to the ground above his head.

The red skinned bastard smirks down at him, plainly amused.

“Going somewhere, Prince Vegeta?” He laughs.

Vegeta snarls, a guttural, animalistic sound slipping from his throat as he tries tearing himself free from Jeice's grip. But he's weakened from the beating they'd already given him, and he gets nowhere, Jeice only laughing more heartily at his efforts.

“No one told you you could leave, little monkey.” Jeice goes on, leaning down closer, his breath hot on Vegeta's face, and the Saiyan turns away, disgusted and enraged.

“Fuckin' little bastard,” he hears Recoome somewhere above him, his voice still tense with pain. “lemme' at him.”

“He's all yours.” Jeice answers, letting go Vegeta's wrists and pushing himself up off him. 

Vegeta tries sitting up, feeling himself freed. But it lasts less than a moment before Recoome's massive hand is abruptly pressed against his mouth, shoving him back down like he was a child. He doesn't let go, his hand crushing down, powerful fingers wrapping round the Saiyan's jaw with pulverizing force.

“You're gonna die for that one monkey filth.” He hisses above him.

Vegeta feels something shift dangerously, a sickening popping noise, and then a crack.

The pain is unbelievable. Tears spring instantly to his eyes and he blinks against them, willing them back, even as a half gargled scream is shoved back down his throat by Recoome's hand.

He reaches up blindly, trying to find the man above him, to grasp onto him, push him off somehow... Somehow.

But he's so weak, and he finds nothing but air.

He's going to die, he realizes. This time, he really is going to die.

What a pathetic end to the royal blood line, he thinks half-heartedly, the pain of his shattered jaw falling to the background of his consciousness. 

His father would be disappointed. 

His eyes fill again with tears at the thought, and he clamps his lids shut, shame and humiliation constricting his chest.

Nappa and Raditz would be killed too, if he died. Frieza wouldn't need them anymore. The lizard was only interested in him. He wouldn't have any use for... if...

He was meant to be the savior of his people, and instead, now, through his own weakness and stupidity, he was going to be the end of the last of them... He was...

He struggles once more, kicking desperately, twisting violently, heedless of the fresh agony which explodes from his jaw and eats away at him like hate.

It's useless though. He can't break free. Can't do anything. His struggles grow weaker, until his arms wave directionless above him, his twisting body heavy and unresponsive as his strength drains entirely away.

His skull is going to be crushed in, he thinks distantly, he's going to die, and then Nappa and Raditz are going to die...

“Sorry...” he thinks. “I'm sorry.”

“Let him go Recoome.”

Freiza's voice fills the corridor, and almost immediately, the pressure crushing Vegeta's face lets go.

It's a manipulation, again.

Still, to his humiliation, Vegeta cannot help the painful relief he feels, or the brief, sickening gratitude towards his “savior”.

He feels the weight of Recoome's massive body shift and lift off of him, and almost immediately, Vegeta tries to sit up.

He pays for it, a rush of dizziness hitting him hard, sending him back down.

“Don't move.” He hears Frieza say, and then the soft sound of his footfall moving closer.

A moment later, cool fingers are touching his face, grasping gently and turning it. Frieza's cold fingers feel like fire against Vegeta's flushed, burning skin, and he flinches at the contact, an immediate instinct to shove the wretched touch away from him.

Only he knows better than that. Knows better than to spit in the face of Frieza's kindness. He'd learned the consequences of doing so a long time ago now.

Frieza tisks as if in disapproval as he continues turning Vegeta's face this way and that, and Vegeta wishes desperately he would let him go. Each movement sends fresh agony down through his broken jaw. He's beginning to feel nauseous, and the last thing he wants is to throw up in front of Frieza and those other two.

“Poor boy, they've broken your jaw, haven't they?” Frieza says, voice laced in false sympathy. 

Vegeta doesn't bother trying to answer. Only stares up at the tyrant's face, his breath shallow and too quick in his chest.

There's panic on the edge of his consciousness. He has to control it. He can't lose it now. Not now.

Frieza smiles, sickly and cruel, and Vegeta feels his stomach drop.

It's all the warning he gets before the tyrant closes his hand over his jaw, squeezing hard.

His vision blacks out.

All he knows for a moment stretching to eternity is pain.

He can feel his body convulse, and a ragged, animal sound fills the space, his own, wailing scream.

“Aww, there, there now.” Frieza coos softly, his crushing fingers abruptly letting go. “Calm yourself Vegeta. You're going to be alright.”

Pain throbs still relentless through his fractured jaw as Frieza gently pets and pats at his face. The sound of Recoome's and Jeice's laughter echos somewhere off in the background, overlaid his harsh, panting breaths.

“Can you walk?” Frieza asks, suddenly straightening, standing over Vegeta and looking down at him with an expression of curiosity. The same expression he always seems to regard Vegeta with when he wasn't outwardly hostile or angry with the prince. Like he was looking at some particularly amusing or fascinating animal.

Vegeta swallows thickly, fresh pain making the space spin above him.

He forces himself to nod, even as doubt makes itself known in his mind. He doesn't know if he can walk. He doesn't even know if he can stand. 

“Good.” Frieza says, stepping back. “Then it will be your honor for me to escort you to the infirmary. Follow quickly.”

Vegeta struggles to sit up again, another wave of dizziness threatening to put him back down.

He manages to force it away, pushing himself with difficulty to his feet.

He stumbles as he makes it up, falling into the wall, barely managing to catch himself.

Jeice is up ahead, laughing as he watches the Saiyan struggle.

Vegeta ignores him.

The more serious threat is already at the end of the corridor, moving rapidly away in that stupid fucking hover craft of his.

Somewhere, Vegeta knows, if he lets himself lose sight of Frieza, he's going to suffer much worse than simply a broken jaw and a battered body.

And so he forces himself to move. Clinging to the wall and stumbling over his own feet, eyes fixed dead on the figure always beyond the reach of his own, useless power.

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Distantly, Vegeta is aware that the harsh wheezing noise filling his ears is the sound of his own, strained breath, though it's difficult to focus on with the ungodly pain currently splitting his side in half.

He pulls his hand from where it's pressed along the wound, his vision blurred and hand shaking as he brings it to his eyes, sees the palm coated in thick blood.

Probably not good, he thinks vaguely.

Stupid, he thinks, the way he'd walked into that. Shoulda' known better. Shoulda' realized there were more of them.

He'd been distracted, irritated. Wasn't getting any closer, felt like. Despair choked him. Thought he'd never attain the power of a Super Saiyan, didn't think. Put himself through hell and nothing. Started to think Kakarott was simply better than him, always would be. More gifted, more powerful... Wonders how it is a low class warrior could be better. Wonders if that were so, why wasn't Kakarott of royal lineage, and he the commoner? 

Despair led to unawareness, and by the time he'd realized he was sensing power signatures, it had been too late. They'd surrounded him, and he'd had no choice but to fight his way out through sheer physical force. 

Frieza's men. Bastards.

Word had traveled apparently. Somehow they'd known he'd been taking out what straggling units of men were left of Frieza's forces, and they'd come for him, wanting, plainly, to return the favor.

Hundreds of them. Individually easily handled, none of them possessing any, real power. All together had been more difficult.

He'd killed every last one of them. Killed them brutally. Had taken some serious damage in the process.

That made evident as he bites down hard on his lip, peeling the top of his battle suit down to his waist, swallowing the hiss of pain which presses against his teeth.

The inside of his suit is sticky with blood, the stretchy material clinging painfully to his skin.

He feels sick when he finally inches it free from the gaping wound in his side and his eyes focus on the damage.

It's disgusting, the flesh rent jaggedly apart in a rough slash from where one of Frieza's men had dug a knife into his side and violently ripped it sideways, thick spurts of blood flowing sluggishly from the gaping wound, sliding lazily down to his hip, disappearing past the waistband of his suit.

Must be four, five inches long.

Wave of dizziness hits his head as he presses his fingers round the wound, another spurt of blood leaking from it. Gotta get it disinfected and sewn up, he thinks absently, before the blood loss makes him pass out.

He pushes himself to his feet, another wave of dizziness, harder this time, and he falls to one knee, pressing his hand against his forehead, eyes closing.

Get up, you weakling, he thinks angrily. Get up.

He does, managing this time to stay up, his vision still blurred and doubling as he stumbles over to where he knows the medical kit is kept.

Glad no one's around to see as his shaking hands clumsily knock the kit to the floor of the ship, noise loud and shattering as the supplies break against it, and he curses at his stupidity, dropping back to his knees, gathering the kit together.

Takes a moment to find the disinfectant spray along with the needle and thread for stitches. Slumps back against the cabinets behind him when he does, sitting a long moment, breath coming heavy and labored, forehead thick with sweat. The pain is awful.

Allows himself only a few moments more, before spraying down a cloth with the disinfectant and wiping the blood from his side with it.

The wound is only more gruesome with the blood cleaned away, and he doesn't allow himself to examine it too closely before turning his attention to threading the needle, making certain to disinfect it before setting to the task of sewing the wound closed.

Halfway through the process he hears the incessant beeping of the call monitor go off, indicating an incoming communication. 

He knows it's Bulma without having to look. 

She's been trying to contact him nearly every day since he'd left Earth.

Each time she does, he wants desperately to accept the call and see her face, hear her voice. Each time she does, he forces himself to ignore her.

Wants to answer now.

Feels lonely out here. Thinks about her all the time. Remembers the warmth of her hands on his skin, remembers her scent, the texture of her soft hair. Sees her smile in his mind, the weird, pleasant feeling he would get in his belly when she would turn that smile towards him.

Can't let her see him like this. Would only worry her more. Doesn't want that.

Keeps leaving messages for him. Won't listen to them. Afraid if he lets himself see her, lets himself hear her, he'll lose what little resolve he has left. Will go back.

Can't do that. Can't go back until he understands how to achieve the power of a Super Saiyan. Until he understands how it is Kakarott did it, how that boy did it. Can't be possible that they could achieve it and not he. Couldn't be.

He lets the incoming call ring out, focusing his attention on stitching the needle through his skin, pinching the wound tightly closed as he goes along. 

Used to it. Has had to do this for himself his whole life, out on the killing fields, no time to get fixed up by a physician, no time for a regeneration tank...

A loud ding indicates Bulma's left another message.

Grits his teeth, pushing the needle through pinched skin.

Another scar. Got so many now... 

Most days tries not to remember where they came from. Doesn't want to know. Doesn't want to feel those things in his brain when he does.

Thinks, sometimes, would rather just forget his whole life.

//

Bulma thinks about the last time she and Vegeta had had sex. A week before he'd been injured in the gravity room. Before he'd taken off for outer space and left her alone.

If she hadn't known before that something had happened to him, that someone had done something to him, she knew it then.

He'd had another panic attack... or some sort of flashback, right in the middle of it.

And like the first time she'd seen him lose it, it had been terrifying.

She remembers feeling him stiffen unnaturally on top of her. Not the sort of stiffening which would have suggested he'd finished, but a rigid, painful seeming tightening of his muscles, and she'd opened her eyes, looking up at him, and seen the absolutely stricken expression across his face. 

His eyes had been naked with fear.

And she'd realized she'd again let her hand wander down his lower back, her fingers brushing over the stump of what remained of his tail, and it didn't take a genius to figure out then that he was having some kind of association with that. With someone touching his tail.

She understood from Goku that, when he'd had his tail still, it had been a point of weakness. That if someone had grabbed hold of it and squeezed hard enough, it would have rendered him paralyzed. 

But that hadn't really explained Vegeta's reaction. Besides which, Gohan had told her how he and that man he'd come to Earth with had trained themselves to overcome the weakness. That when Piccolo had grabbed the other ones tail, he hadn't so much as flinched, instead bursting into amused laughter at the attempt.

No, whatever was going on with Vegeta, it was something else. 

Bulma had guessed, given the sensitivity of the nerves in the appendage, that it likely could have suggested pleasure as much as pain. The same as how nothing hurt a man worse than when you grabbed hold of his balls and squeezed. Massaging the same area could give a man extreme pleasure.

She'd remembered the first time she'd touched Vegeta there, and he'd gasped aloud and pulled back from her. He'd felt something, clearly, only his face hadn't expressed pain, only shock and panic.

He didn't like being touched there, plainly, and Bulma could guess why.

She'd called his name, and like the first panic attack she'd witnessed, she'd gotten no response, Vegeta's eyes distant, like he was seeing someplace else entirely, his chest seizing up, and he hadn't been breathing again.

It had been a nightmare, Bulma herself panicking again, not knowing what to do. She'd kept touching him, touching his face, kissing his cheeks, his forehead, begging him to breathe, to take a deep breath, trying anything she could to snap him out of it, until finally, somehow, she had.

He'd come out of it like he had the first time too, gasping desperately for air, it taking far too long it seemed for him to recognize her at all. And like the first time too, once he had, he'd reacted with furious anger, stumbling back off the bed, snarling and spitting at her like some wild animal, screaming at her to stay away from him, to not touch him, before he'd run away from her, disappearing someplace she couldn't find him.

That had been eight months ago.

He'd been gone that long now, without a single word back.

Saying she was worried would have been the understatement of the century.

Some days she vacillated between burning rage at him for abandoning her like this and drowning in a shocking despair and fear for his well being.

If he ever came back (when he came back, she keeps telling herself), she didn't know if she was going to crush him in a hug or wring his god damned neck.

It didn't help that all of her friends kept giving her sympathetic and knowing looks, as if they felt bad about telling her 'I told you so', but doing it anyway.

She kept wanting irrationally to tell them all to fuck off, to tell them they didn't know anything, didn't know Vegeta. Tell them they were wrong, even if in her heart she feared so much that they were right. Feared they were right when they told her Vegeta was no good for her. That they were right when they said Vegeta was just too selfish, too violent, too dangerous to ever be a good man.

She had believed in her heart that he was, and she believes that still, deep down, underneath all his problems, and despite everything. 

He isn't answering again, and as usual, the call rings out with no reply.

She waits for the messaging system to sound, and with a sinking heart, she begins to talk.

“Hi Vegeta...” she starts, unsure what to even say at this point. “I hope you're alright... I miss you. I keep saying that, I'm starting to sound like a broken record... I'm worried about you. I wish you would answer me.”

She pauses, feeling useless and stupid, like she's talking to no one.

“... Please come back soon. I really do miss you. I...” she pauses again, hesitating.

She had been about to say “I love you”, and she isn't sure why she stopped herself. 

She thinks she does. Love him. She doesn't know how he would react if she told him that. Probably not good. That's why.

“Just please come back soon. I'll try contacting you again tomorrow. Stay... stay safe.”

She hesitates again before finally disconnecting, leaning her elbows on the console before her and holding her head in her hands, her eyes stinging with unshed tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, all my thanks to all my readers and reviewers! You guys are so awesome and your support means so much. I hope you continue to enjoy and as always, if you have a chance, let me know your thoughts!


	23. Chapter 23

Feels like suffocating, how much he hates himself. Hates himself. Can't take it, can't... can't stand...

Couldn't do it. Been at it for months, still couldn't do what Kakarott had so easily done. What that boy had so easily done. Wasn't good enough. Never had been. Never would be.

Father was wrong. All of them... Nappa, Raditz, the whole entire race of his people. Wrong. Been wrong about him. 

Shoulda' been Kakarott then. Shoulda' been him that was Prince of their people.

Hates himself. Hates his weakness. Pathetic, pitiful weakness. Can't stand it.

Can't fucking stand it!

Didn't know where he was anymore. Lost track a while ago. Some barren rock of a planet. Nothing around. Just endless wasteland and a burning, red sun. Unbearable heat. Been here for days. Didn't have the will to get back on the ship. To keep going. Felt so tired all the time now.

Tried so hard. Didn't matter. Just didn't have what it took. Whatever it was. Didn't have it. Sure of that now. 

Hates himself.

Hate burning like rage in the pit of his stomach. Burning in his chest. Hate and rage and he can't stand it. Can't stand it anymore.

Feels his fingers tearing at his hair, tearing at his scalp. Wants to feel pain. Wants to hurt himself. Deserves it. Deserves to suffer for his pathetic weakness anyway.

Teeth grit hard together. So hard, feels the ache up in his gums, eyes squeeze shut and they burn, burn, burn. Some sound in his ears. Low, guttural hum, almost a whine. Him, he thinks. It's him making that sound. Like some sorry swine caught in a trap. Can't stop it though. 

Burning up with hate and rage, red haze again, can't think. Can't think right. Thoughts all confused. Hates himself. Only thing he can think. Hates himself so much.

Hands fall, palms pressing to hard packed dirt underneath his knees, fingers digging, clawing into it.

“... Why...?” Voice chokes out. Doesn't sound like his voice. Rough and weak and trembling. Eyes burn. “Why... why...”

Why can't I? Thinks. Why can't I do it? What's wrong... what's wrong with me?

“What's WRONG WITH ME!?”

Power explodes, and can't control it. Can't reign it back in. Explodes out of him in rolling, wicked waves, and the land around him flies apart. Building, building. Building too fast, and can't control it. Feels like burning from the inside out, and thinks for an instant he's going to die. Going to be consumed by the heat and power of his own ki. 

For an instant, doesn't even care.

… Doesn't understand at first. 

Doesn't know what it is he's feeling.

Surge of power. Feels strange. Not like his own.

Doesn't understand.

Doesn't understand at first.

Maybe doesn't for a long time.

Sits there, power like fire burning in his veins, and doesn't understand.

Eyes open, burning too. Looks at his thick fingered hands. Stares. 

Aura of his power has always been blue. Golden now. This is golden. Bright, fire yellow. Like a yellow sun. 

Feels funny. Feels lighter, somehow. Feels lighter, like his body weighs nothing. Feels stronger, somehow.

Stares at his hands, and thinks for a moment he must be dreaming.

Not a dream though. Real. This is... real.

Only doesn't understand how. How, after so long trying... 

Thinks for a moment, if it's not a dream, then probably another hallucination. Like with Nappa and Raditz. Gotta be.

Only somehow he knows that it's not.

Knows what he's feeling and seeing is it. Is the thing he's been trying for so long now to become. Been trying his whole fucking life...

Stares still, doesn't know for how long. Just keeps staring. Can't really believe it. Brain keeps telling him it's true though.

With seconds passing, seems more and more like it's so. Believes it more and more. 

Then a weird feeling. Like fear in the pit of his stomach, only different. Not quite that. Almost giddy. Something excited. 

Feels his mouth pulling up at the corners, and isn't sure when it is he'd gotten to his feet.

Giddy feeling working up into his throat.

Doesn't know when it is he'd started laughing either. Sounds weird in his ears. Sounds like someone else. Weird, sharp barks filling his hearing. Can't stop. Can't stop the almost sick giddiness now. Doesn't want to.

Did it. He did it. Can't hardly believe...

Hands curling to fists. Feels a surge of power, and too much, it's almost too much. Unbelievable. Can't hardly believe it's his own. Like nothing he's ever felt. Wonders then if this is how Kakarott feels all the time. 

Thinks what it must have felt like, to have this kind of strength against Frieza. Wonders about that, and feels almost ill with grief. Won't ever get to know. Won't ever know that.

But can't stop laughing now. Doesn't ever remember feeling something like this. Not like this. 

Wonders, then, if maybe it's happiness. 

Maybe... 

Thinks maybe it's so.

//

It's the middle of the night when she wakes, and Bulma knows without having to open her eyes that she's being watched. Can feel it. Someone standing over her.

She thinks she should feel frightened, or unsettled. It's weird, that she doesn't. Not at all.

Maybe, she thinks, because she knows without having to look either who it is standing over her.

All she can feel is painful, almost suffocating relief.

She rolls over, eyes opening, and even in the dark of her room, the silhouette he cuts is unmistakable, his short, compact frame outlined beneath the tall spike of his hair.

She should be angry, she thinks. 

Thirteen months. 

Thirteen months since he'd left. Thirteen months without a single word at all but a brief, passionless message two months before, saying “I'm alive.” 

The relief she'd felt from those two words had been absurd and overwhelming.

She didn't know then if he was ever going to come back, but foolish as hope always was, she'd allowed the fact he'd sent her word at all to make her believe that he would. Rationalized, why would he tell her he was alive if he wasn't planning on returning. Why would he tell her he was alive if he didn't care about her at all... like most of her friends had told her... Like she had started to believe...

None of that mattered now.

None of it.

She doesn't even try to stop it as tears immediately flood her eyes, a harsh, awful sob locking up in her throat as she lurches up from her bed and throws her arms around him.

She can feel him stiffen, frame going rigid and awkward, but she doesn't care, her arms wrapping tighter, her face pressing against his shoulder as she begins to sob in earnest.

He doesn't say anything. Doesn't hold her back. It doesn't matter.

She's so happy to see him, so happy she can hardly bear it.

“Am I dreaming?” She asks, pressing her face harder to his shoulder.

“... No.” He at last speaks, and hearing his voice again after so long is surreal. Makes her cry harder. She breathes in hard, the scent of him strange, like cold air and fresh grass, and she wonders where it is he's been, what it is he's done in all these months.

“... Why are you crying?” He asks after long minutes, like he genuinely doesn't understand.

“Because I missed you, you fucking idiot.” She says, and now some of the anger she should have been feeling comes in like a wave. She lifts her face from his shoulder, looking up at him, reaching up and pressing her hand to the side of his face.

He looks exactly the same, as far as she can tell. Nothing different. Like he'd never left at all. 

She loved him. Gods help her, she really did love him.

It took him going away for so long for her to realize that.

He's staring back at her like a confused child. Like he doesn't understand at all. 

“Where the hell did you go Vegeta?” She asks, shaking her head. “Why didn't... why didn't you answer any of my messages? Why didn't you at least let me know you were fucking alive?!”

“... I did.” He says flatly, and it only makes her angrier.

“After almost a fucking year of you being gone, maybe! And all you give me is two words. Vegeta, I thought something horrible had happened to you. Either that or I thought you just didn't...”

She cuts herself off, shaking her head again.

She didn't want to know. Didn't want to hear him say he didn't care about her. If she heard him say that, if he confirmed it for her... she didn't know what she was going to do. 

She fucking loved him hard.

“... I had to train.” He tells her, as if that would explain everything.

She doesn't understand.

“You could have trained here. You could have...”

He shakes his head, and suddenly his hands come up, grasping round her arms. He stares at her so intently then it's a struggle for her not to look away, his coal black eyes frightening in the intensity of their regard.

“I became a Super Saiyan.” He says.

For a moment, Bulma doesn't understand. She blinks at him.

“... You...” she finally manages, and her voice dies in her throat as she sees his lips pull up into a small smile. 

It's a bizarre expression on his almost always stoic, hardened features.

“I achieved the power of a Super Saiyan.” He repeats, and like the expression on his face, the almost excitement she hears in his voice seems oddly out of place. He'd always sounded so sad to her when he spoke. “I've achieved what I was destined to do. Bulma, I...”

He trails off, and Bulma feels her heart seize up in her chest.

… She doesn't remember him ever calling her by her name.

“So you did it.” She at last says, when it seems he isn't going to say anymore. 

She's happy for him. She is. She didn't understand why it meant so much to him. Only knew that it did. 

“I knew you could.” She says. 

He stares back at her, his eyes almost searching now, looking for something in her face.

“... I didn't.” He says, and his voice is so quiet then, she almost doesn't hear.

She isn't ready when he reaches up suddenly, his hands cupping her face. Isn't ready when he leans in and presses his mouth against hers.

She leans into it, desperate, not really realizing until that moment how much, truly how much, she'd needed him.

It's almost a physical pain then when he pulls away, still holding onto her face.

“I'm going to defeat these androids.” He says, looking intently back at her. “I'll destroy them. I promise I will.”

God, the androids. Bulma had nearly forgotten about them in her grief over Vegeta leaving. She'd almost begun to accept that he'd abandoned all of them to deal with the threat on their own, and the implications of that, that it would mean he'd never cared at all about her, had been too much to bear. She hadn't allowed herself to ponder it.

But he'd come back. He'd come back to her, and he was here, promising her that he would destroy the androids, and Bulma can't help the swelling of hope in her heart then. 

He wouldn't be here, he wouldn't be saying what he was saying to her if he didn't care. He wouldn't be. She knows that.

“I know. I know you will Vegeta.” She says, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks.

She throws her arms around him again, hugging him tight against her. 

It takes a long time of her holding onto him, until finally she feels him shift, his powerful arms reaching around and holding her back.

//

They make love.

It's perfect. Easy. Unplanned. 

Vegeta is so gentle with her, kind and thoughtful, and Bulma finds herself nearly again in tears for how in the space of a few hours everything has suddenly changed for so much the better. When she thinks about how earlier that evening, she had lain awake in bed, stricken with a nearly paralyzing fugue of depression and regret, and now she was here with him, the two of them wrapped round each other, content and warm and safe.

She has so many questions. So many things she wants to ask him. Where he's been, what he's been doing. How he managed at last to become a Super Saiyan. Wanted to see it too. Wanted to see what that looked like on him. She had a difficult time envisioning him with that fiery, yellow hair that she knew was the trademark of the transformation. He cut such a dark figure, with his deep black eyes. Though his hair, strangely, was lighter than Goku's or Gohan's. Nearing towards a reddish brown in certain lighting. It was hard to describe. And his skin, too, was lighter than theirs, almost pale.

It was his bearing, and eyes, she supposes, which made it hard to picture him with yellow hair and green irises.

She can't help noticing, either, the new scars littering his body. There must be half a dozen which she doesn't recall being there before he left, and she knows without having to ask him where those likely came from.

He's quiet now, as he almost always is, lying on his back beside her, eyes turned toward the ceiling. He has his arm wrapped round her shoulders and she rests her chin on his chest, smoothing her fingers over one of those new scars, slashed down across his abdomen, running thick and gnarled along his side and down to his hip.

“... Penny for your thoughts?” She asks after a while, her voice nearly a whisper.

He doesn't say anything for a long moment, and Bulma finds herself smiling at it. She'd gotten used to his taking a long time to speak. Had figured out that it wasn't because he wasn't going to answer, usually. Only that he took a long time to say what he wanted. She found it endearing, even admirable. That he never spoke carelessly. Bluntly, sure. Even rudely, a lot of the time. But he never spoke thoughtlessly.

“... What does that mean?” He at last says. “Penny for your thoughts?”

Something else Bulma was happy to see. He was growing more comfortable with asking her questions. With admitting, at least around her, when he didn't know something.

“It's just an expression that means I'd like to know what you're thinking. Saying a 'penny for your thoughts' just means I'd pay you a penny if you told me what they were.”

He's quiet again for a long moment.

“A penny is... a form of currency on your planet, yes?” He asks finally.

Bulma nods, shifting up closer to his face, resting her chin near the space between his neck and shoulder.

“Yeah.” She answers. 

Another stretch of silence, and then he starts to speak.

“I used to... it... it used to be normal for me, to... traveling through space. It never... I never felt...”

He stops, breathing out heavily through his nose, obviously frustrated, like he doesn't know how to say what he wants to. Bulma reaches up, sliding her fingers into his hair, massaging his scalp. 

“It's alright.” She tells him.

His jaw tightens a moment, but he doesn't otherwise stiffen or pull away.

“... It was part of my life, spending... spending long stretches of time alone, traveling through all that... all that darkness. Missions which would take... take weeks or months or years. It never bothered me. Sometimes... I preferred it. Liked it better than staying on base near... near Frieza, anyway...”

He trails off again, and it's nearly a minute without words before Bulma decides he's probably not going to say anything more.

“But it bothered you this time?” She asks carefully after a few seconds longer, still massaging his scalp.

He doesn't respond for a while, just staring at the ceiling, before eventually he turns his face away from her, and she knows that's probably it.

“... I couldn't come back until I'd become a Super Saiyan.” He finally says, and that's about as much of a confession as she was going to get. 

He'd been lonely out there, this time. 

She didn't want him to suffer, but she couldn't help the relief she felt to know that. To know he'd missed her too.

It didn't explain why he couldn't have at least contacted her. At least answered one of her dozens upon dozens of messages. 

“How'd you do it?” She decides to ask instead. She didn't want to get into a fight with him only a few hours after he'd come back. “Become Super Saiyan, I mean?”

His hand round her arm rubs absently up and down it, and she isn't even sure he's aware he's doing it.

She scoots in closer against him, liking the feel of it, the rough calluses along his palm strangely comforting against her smooth skin.

“... I was angry at myself.” He says after a long moment. His voice sounds distant, lost in memory. “I couldn't... hated myself because I couldn't... I couldn't be what...”

He's stammering, stumbling over his words, and Bulma knows he's feeling overwhelmed suddenly by his own emotions. She'd begun to understand that about him too. That he had trouble expressing himself most when he was feeling too much.

“Hey...” she says, pushing herself up onto her elbow, leaning over him. She reaches out, lying the backs of her fingers against his temple, and he stops, his eyes shifting up to her. She smiles softly at him. “I'm proud of you.” She says, and she means it. She is proud of him.

His eyes shift away from her, and she sees him swallow thickly a few times.

“... It's what I'm meant to be. What... what I was always supposed to be...” He says, and he sounds so uncertain to her, like he still doesn't quite believe his own words.

“Yeah, well,” she answers. “it's still fucking amazing. Whether you were destined for it or whatever. And I'm proud of you.”

He doesn't say anything else after that. Only lays there a long time, silent, until finally he turns toward Bulma, pressing against her, his face buried against her shoulder, and Bulma wraps her arm around him, holding him back close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, my deepest thanks to all my readers and reviewers. You guys are awesome!


	24. Chapter 24

Can't sleep.

Nothing strange.

Feels weird, being back. Feels weird laying here, Bulma asleep beside him. Can't stop staring at her. Keeps thinking it's a dream. Or otherwise another hallucination. She isn't really there. Only keeps reaching out, and when he touches her, he feels the solid reality underneath his fingers. Not a dream. Not a hallucination. She's there. With him. Hadn't kicked him out. Hadn't told him to go. Hadn't told him she hated him.

Doesn't understand why, really. Doesn't understand most things, these days. Maybe never understood anything. 

Made him happy though, that she didn't hate him. Been afraid she would. Been so afraid... Had tried not to think about it, on his return here. Had tried to think of anything but. Found himself indulging in stupid, childish fantasies of her greeting him happily, of her smiling at him, putting her arms around him, kissing him.

Had thought for certain it wasn't real, when all those things had really happened.

Doesn't understand, but won't question it. Doesn't want her to tell him to go.

She'd told him she was proud of him.

Doesn't really remember anyone ever... saying that to him before. Maybe Nappa and Raditz had. Can't remember. 

Didn't mean much to him, if they had.

The woman said it though, and it... it felt like something nice. Like something good inside. Doesn't know how to describe it. Thinks, if she was proud of him, than maybe it meant something. Maybe it mattered. 

He reaches out, brushing her bangs back off her forehead.

She looks just as beautiful when she's sleeping as she does awake, he thinks. Almost... almost afraid to touch her. Keeps thinking he'll hurt her, somehow, with his big, clumsy hands. Doesn't want to hurt her.

They'd had intercourse again. Thought she really was enjoying it now. She made amazing noises, and he was able to hold on longer. Felt better than anything, when he pushed into her and held her against his chest. Wanted to stay like that with her always, when it was happening. Loved the way she smelled. How soft her skin was against him. Smooth as water. When she said his name, made him crazy, made him want to kiss her all over and never let her go. 

Didn't know why she wanted him. Didn't matter, he guesses. She did. That's all that mattered.

Starting to get light out. Should probably get up, go train. Couldn't lose this. Couldn't lose Super Saiyan. 

Would show them. Would show all of them, when the androids came. Would save all of them, and then they would see. Couldn't look down on him anymore, after that. Couldn't sneer and gloat like they were better.

Runs his fingers across Bulma's cheek. Pulls back.

Gotta train, only he should eat first, he thinks. Hadn't eaten anything in a long time.

//

Old man is there, when he walks in the kitchen. Bulma's father.

Hadn't ever really seen an old person before. Seen a few, on some planet's he'd purged. Hadn't ever really been this close to one before though.

Saiyan's usually never lived very long. Odds were always against that, when you were constantly in battle. Most men in Freiza's forces never lived very long either. 

Thinks about leaving. Didn't really like talking to Bulma's father. Made him feel dumb. Talking to Bulma made him feel the same, a lot, only she never looked at him like she thought so. The old man though, Vegeta could see it. Would start talking at him some scientific garble and then cut himself off, mutter “never mind” and talk about something else, something he thought Vegeta could actually understand.

Hated it. Hated the old man when he did that. Wanted to smash his stupid, fragile little body. All bent over and weak. 

Couldn't do that though. Bulma would never forgive him.

Doesn't leave fast enough though. Old man spots him, calls out to him.

“Vegeta! My boy! You're back!”

Freezes, stares back at the old man. Doesn't say anything. Doesn't know what to say. Old man had one of those smoking things hanging out of his mouth. Hated that too. Bulma did it too sometimes. Hated it more when she did it. Things smelled foul. Couldn't be good for you.

“When did you get in?” Old man asks and Vegeta looks away. Wants to go. Doesn't want to talk to him.

Bulma's father was bizarrely cheerful. Same as her mother. Unsettled him, made him feel itchy and irritated. Didn't understand what there was to be so happy about.

“Would you like me to heat you up some leftovers? I'm gonna have some myself. Last nights meatloaf!”

Vegeta looks back at him, annoyed. Wishes he would go away. Notices the old man's holding a glass container in his hands. The leftovers from last night, he guesses. Was hungry. Wanted the leftovers.

Jaw clenches as he gives a stiff nod, looking away again.

“Wonderful! We'll eat together then!” 

Vegeta's hands clench at his side.

Calm, calm... breathe in, out, in out.

“Good job little man. Just like that.”

“Shut up.” Vegeta hisses at Nappa.

“Hmm? Did you say something?” Old man asks and Vegeta feels his face heat.

Couldn't let them know about his hallucinations. Would think he was crazy, if he did. Bulma would think he was crazy. Wouldn't want him around then. Wouldn't...

“No.” He says flatly, maybe too forcefully, if the way the old man's face blanches slightly is any indication.

“Oh, alright then.” He goes on, same, happy voice, before busying himself with heating their food.

Forces himself to move farther into the kitchen, towards the refrigerator. Didn't know what he was doing, acting scared of a weak old man. Wasn't scared of him, just... didn't like talking to him.

Opens the refrigerator door, looks inside.

Bulma's father was taller once, Vegeta thinks. Probably taller than him, if how bent he is was any clue. They were the same height now. Least there was that. Least he didn't have to look up at the smug bastard.

Grabs a box of juice and slams the door shut more forcefully than he probably should have. Pretends not to care, goes looking for a glass.

“So when did you get back?” The old man asks again. Doesn't seem to mind that Vegeta hadn't answered the same question the first time.

“... Last night.” He finally replies, pouring the juice, not looking at the old man as he hovers too close.

“Does Bulma know?” Old man asks.

Breathe... in... out...

“Yes.” He says, putting the juice box back.

“I'm glad.” Old man goes on. “She was so worried about you.”

Vegeta says nothing to that, moving towards the breakfast table with his juice and sitting down.

Doesn't know why the old man wants to talk to him. 

The heating box, or whatever its called, gives a loud ding, and a few moments later the old man comes over with two plates, putting one down in front of Vegeta.

“I put some ketchup on there. Hope you like it.” He says.

Vegeta doesn't reply, starting to eat.

“So, my boy,” old man continues, pulling out a chair and sitting across from him. “I've been meaning to talk to you about your relationship with my daughter for some time. I figure, since we're alone and the rest of the house is still asleep, we might as well do it now.”

Didn't want to talk to the old man about that. Didn't want to talk to anyone about that. Wasn't anyone's business. Wasn't anyone's right to... to...

“You really care about Bulma, don't you?” Old man says and Vegeta freezes. Mind goes blank. Doesn't know what that means. Doesn't know how to answer that.

Cares? What does he mean he cares about Bulma? Looks up, old man is staring intently at him, face more serious than usual.

“I know she cares deeply for you.” He says. “She loves you my boy. You realize that, yes?”

Loves him? Doesn't... doesn't understand that. Bulma doesn't love him. Doesn't think. Doesn't know what that even means.

“I'm not sure she even quite realizes it herself yet, of course. Love is a complicated emotion. But I've seen the way she looks at you and talks about you, and I've been in love myself. Still am, in fact.” Old man laughs and Vegeta wishes he would shut up. “So I like to think I know what I'm talking about. I just want to make sure you understand too Vegeta. I know you're a good boy and you would never hurt my daughter intentionally. It's hard for her though, when you run off like that. It leaves her feeling anxious and stressed out. I don't like to see her like that.”

Vegeta's hand closes too tight over his fork. Gonna crush it. Wants the old man to shut up. But he just keeps talking.

“You're from another world Vegeta. Another species of being. I know it can be easy to forget sometimes how strong you are compared to us mere humans. I'm not saying this to accuse you of anything son, so please try to understand. I know Bulma didn't sprain her wrist in any lab accident. We have video recorders all over the compound, especially in the labs. I know she was just trying to protect you and I'm sure it was an accident, but I just want to make sure you understand.”

Heart beating, pounding loud in his ears. Red. Red haze. Shut up. Wants the old man to shut up. Didn't understand. Didn't mean to hurt Bulma. Didn't mean...

“... I... I didn't... didn't hurt her. Didn't m-mean to...” he stammers out, stupid voice won't work right. Can't get the words clear in his head. Can't... can't...

Old man smiles at him. Patient, gentle smile. Smile like Frieza used to have. Placate his dumb monkey. Pat on the head. Good boy, good monkey, good pet. Don't think too hard. Don't hurt yourself thinking too hard. 

“I know that son. Believe me. I just want to make sure you understand to be gentle with her. I can see you only have good intentions. But Bulma is my little girl, after all. I just want her to be safe.”

Can't take it. Can't. Doesn't want to hurt Bulma. Didn't mean to. Just forgot for a second. Just forgot what was happening. Why didn't they understand that?

Red haze blinds him, rage in his chest. And he can't stop it. Can't.

Stands, hands smash down on the table. Thing shatters to splinters, food and plates with it.

Old man stumbles back, face white with fear.

Wants to reach out and thrash the old fool. Wants to wring his stupid, scrawny neck.

No... no... can't... can't do that. Would kill him. Would kill him and then Bulma would... she would hate him. She would hate him for sure. Can't. Can't do that.

Breath heavy in his chest, stares back. Old man blinks at him, frozen, scared.

“Don't... shut up. Shut the fuck up.” Vegeta growls at him, sharp teeth bared. “Just stop talking.”

Bulma's father puts his hands up, stepping back. Looks terrified now.

“Vegeta, son, I didn't mean anything. I just...”

“I said SHUT UP!” Vegeta roars. Can't take it. Hands come up, tearing at his hair. Can't take listening to it. Doesn't want to listen to this fucking shit.

A sharp gasp behind him, and he turns, seeing Bulma's mother there, hands over her mouth, eyes wide in shock.

And then Bulma herself.

“Mom, what's going on in...?” 

Stops, her own hands coming up over her mouth, expression stricken.

All out of control now. All of it out of control. 

Doesn't know what to do. Should run, probably. Only Bulma and her mother are blocking the door. Would have to shove them out of the way to do that. Would have to...

“Vegeta, Dad, what's going on?!” Bulma moves forward, past her mother. “Oh my God...”

“Nothing dear. It's nothing. Just a little misunderstanding.” Old man answers. Sounds so sure. 

Mouth feels dry, throat tight. Doesn't know what to say. Doesn't feel like he can talk at all.

Doesn't want Bulma to see this. Doesn't want her to be mad.

She looks at him, eyes questioning, worried. Doesn't know what to say. Thoughts all jumbled. Broken up. Can't think right.

“... I didn't...” he stammers, sounds so stupid. Shouldn't talk. Shouldn't say anything. “... didn't hurt you. I didn't mean...”

Bulma frowns, face confused. Reaches out, puts a hand on his face, soft skin warm against his cheek, and his voice dies in his throat.

“It's okay. Vegeta, it's alright.” She tells him softly. “Just take a breath and let yourself think. Alright?”

Blinks at her, tries to listen. Let himself think. 

“What happened?” Bulma asks again after a long moment, and her voice isn't accusing. Only concerned, confused.

Vegeta looks at her, wants her to understand.

He didn't mean to hurt her. Never had. Never thought about ever hurting her. Didn't understand why everyone kept accusing him of it. Kept saying he did.

Can't get the words out, doesn't know how to explain...

“It was just a little misunderstanding sweetheart.” Bulma's father says again, and she turns to look at him, her hand still on Vegeta's face. “I was just trying to have a talk with the boy, about being careful. I want you both to be safe and...”

“Wait a second.” Bulma talks over him, her hand finally slipping from Vegeta's cheek. Stupid, he thinks, how he wishes it hadn't. “Dad, what are you talking about? You wanted to have a talk with Vegeta about our... safety? What, do you mean safe sex or something? Because I hardly think that's nec...”

“No, no...” Old man protests, face turning red, hands coming up and waving wildly. “Nothing like that darling. What you and your partners do privately is your own business, of course. I just meant... well, Vegeta's a strong young man, and I know he's used to engaging in... in violent action, and I just wanted to make sure he understood you aren't as sturdy as some of the people he's maybe used to being around.”

Bulma doesn't say anything.

Feels himself tense up. Wasn't that stupid. Knew Bulma was more fragile than most. Wasn't stupid enough to treat her like she was... like she was...

“Wait a second Dad.” Her voice breaks his thoughts apart. “Are you serious?”

Old man blinks back at her, his turn to look confused. Hesitates, doesn't say anything a moment.

“... Bulma, I'm only trying to help. I... your mother and I know you didn't sprain your wrist in any lab accident. We're just a little conce...”

“Stop.” Bulma cuts him off again. “Just... stop talking. Right now. I can't believe, I can't...” Lifts her hands to her head, fingers digging into her hair, pulling at it hard. “Dad, are you even listening to yourself?! You actually said that shit to my boyfriend?! For fucks sake, Vegeta's never laid a hand on me! Yeah, alright, fine, the sprain wasn't from a lab accident. Vegeta grabbed my wrist a little too hard one time, but that was the only time, and it wasn't even remotely intentional. He wasn't trying to hurt me, or even being physical. I tried to touch him when he wasn't okay with it, and he just reflexively caught my hand. It was an accident.”

“Bulma, sweetheart, that isn't what...” Old man tries again, and again Bulma cuts him off.

“You're talking about him like he's some sort of wild animal who doesn't understand his own strength. I promise you Dad, Vegeta understands his strength a hell of a lot better than any of us do. He isn't stupid, so don't treat him like he is. And don't treat me like some vulnerable little girl. I'm 32 fucking years old Dad. I'm a grown woman, and I think I can make my own judgments about what is and isn't good for me. I thought you understood that. What kind of bullshit line is that to lay on Vegeta when he hasn't even been back for a full day anyway? Everything was going great last night. We had a great night together, and then he has to wake up to you interrogating him like he's some kind of domestic abuser...”

Keeps talking, keeps arguing... voices fade into shapeless noise.

Doesn't really understand what's going on. Doesn't understand any of this. Bulma's angry. Can see that. Doesn't think she's angry at him. Doesn't really know though. Worries about that. Didn't mean to get angry again. Didn't mean to break another table. Just the old man wouldn't stop talking, stop saying things he didn't like. Couldn't take it. Couldn't take it anymore...

Thoughts tear apart again. Bulma's hand around his, soft, warm skin. Looks up, sees her standing there, looking at him.

“Come on.” She's saying. “Come on Vegeta. Let's go.”

Tugging on his hand, wanting him to move. Lets her pull him. Looks back at the old man, face confused and hurt.

The mother tries to say something. Bulma cuts her off too, pulling Vegeta past and out of the kitchen.

Takes him out back, keeps pulling on him until they're near the big tree. Pulls him down with her as she sits in the grass.

Worries. Worries she's mad at him. Didn't... didn't want this to happen. Didn't want everything to get ruined again. Couldn't help it. Got so angry sometimes, thought he would explode. Thought he would make the whole universe blow up.

“Hey, Vegeta,” thoughts break apart again, feels her hands on his. “calm down. Alright? You're tense as a bow string.”

Didn't realize, didn't even notice. She turns his hands over, her thumbs smoothing over his palms.

Watches her hands. They're so small. Fit perfectly in his. Delicate and elegant. Skin's so smooth, white as alabaster. Makes his look even uglier. Thick, blunt fingers and wide, rough palms, scarred up, bruised, swollen knuckles. Look like big blocks of stone, compared to hers.

“What's wrong?” She asks. Looks up at her. Beautiful blue eyes. Everything about her beautiful.

Doesn't know what to say. Doesn't know how to say it. Was afraid... was so afraid. Thought maybe they were all right. Shoulda' stayed away, probably. Should have never come back...

“Vegeta, it's okay. Look at me. Hey. It's okay.”

Wasn't... nothing was.

“... I didn't mean to hurt you.” He blurts. Stupid. Sounds so stupid. Said that already and sounds so stupid.

Bulma blinks, and her eyes turn sad then, hard lines creasing her perfect skin.

“... Oh Vegeta.” She says. Sounds sad, like her eyes. Doesn't understand why. “I know that. I know that.”

Her hands squeeze harder. Looks frustrated, angry again a moment. Said the wrong thing, probably. Shouldn't have said anything.

“God damn it, why do they...” She says, stops then, looks away. “... You didn't even hurt me that badly. Like they've never fucked up...”

Doesn't know what to say. She's angry. Thinks he should say something now. Doesn't know what though.

“... They think I'm dangerous.” He says. Doesn't know why. “Because I am.”

She looks back at him, frustrated look worse on her face.

“... Maybe.” She says, voice hard. “But not to me you're not. They don't get that. They don't get that people can change.”

Hadn't changed though. Still was a killer. Still killed without hesitation. Was in his blood. Like any predator. Did it naturally. Didn't think she understood that.

Maybe that wasn't fair to her.

“I killed when I was away.” He says, watches her face. Sees the color drain from it. Sees the flash of horror before it flits away. Wishes he hadn't said it then. Wishes he hadn't. 

“... Okay.” She says finally. “How... I mean, wh-who did you... kill?”

Sounds afraid now. Unsure.

Shouldn't have said that.

“Frieza's men, mostly.” He answers after a moment. 

“Mostly.” She says.

“... Some of them wore uniforms I didn't recognize. Couldn't be sure, then.” He says. Hearts pounding in his chest. Feels sick to his stomach.

“They attacked you?” She keeps asking.

“... Usually.” He replies. “I attacked them, sometimes.”

It upsets her. Can see that. Probably going to tell him to go now. Probably. Shouldn't have told her.

Silent for a long while. Probably hated him now. Gods, couldn't... didn't want her to. Didn't.

“... Well, they were bad men.” She says at last. “Weren't they? If they worked for Freiza.”

Guesses so. Certainly weren't good men. Most of them had been volunteers. Not like him. Not like the Saiyans, absorbed into Frieza's empire under threat of annihilation. Criminal sorts who liked the idea of getting paid to kill. That was the sort that made up the majority of Freiza's army. Wasn't why he killed them though. Killed them because they wanted to kill him. Killed them because he hated them.

“... They were mercenaries.” He says. 

Doesn't like it. He can see she doesn't like it. Face still pale, almost imperceptible trembling in her hands, still holding his. She's trying to stay calm. 

“I wouldn't hurt you.” He tries. Own voice sounds weak to his ears. Pitiful reassurance. What reason would she have to believe him now? 

She nods, swallows thickly, eyes bright, holding back tears.

“Do you...” she starts, stops, breathes out shaky. “do you... enjoy killing?”

Stops, thoughts scattering a moment.

Doesn't understand. Doesn't understand really what that means. Killing wasn't something to really enjoy. Didn't really enjoy it. Only something he was born to do, raised to do. 

Blood got up when he engaged an enemy, adrenaline going hard, an almost sick feeling of fear and exhilaration flooding his system, stomach tight with tension and anticipation. Didn't think about whether he liked it or not. Didn't think at all when fighting. Just instinct. Give him a target and he would kill it. Didn't know how to do anything else.

“... I know how to do it.” He answers. Doesn't know what else to say. “I'm good at it.” 

No relief in Bulma's eyes. Panic shuts up his throat a moment. Going to lose her like this. Thinks any moment her face will turn to disgust.

“I... I was raised like... like this.” Stammers out, desperate attempt to make her understand. “I don't... d-don't know how to do anything else. I'm no good at any... anything else.”

She frowns, same, sad look in her eyes as before.

“That's not true. Vegeta, you're good at a lot of things.”

Must look like he doesn't believe her, because she reaches out and grabs his face between her hands.

“You are.” She insists. “You're so talented Vegeta, at so many things. Your ability to pick up and understand new concepts, for one thing. You can actually follow what I'm talking about whenever I discuss my new projects with you. I've never met anyone besides my Dad who can do that. Or your obvious gift for mechanical engineering. You have a real talent for building things Vegeta. How can you not know that?”

Only thing he was talented at was fighting. Was a prodigy at that. Knew that. Had been told that since he'd been nothing more than a kit. Wasn't talented at anything else. Been told that too, since as far back as he could remember. Too dumb to really be good at anything else but what was purely physical. Thought Bulma was mistaking his picking up skill out of necessity for having talent. 

“You don't believe me.” She says, seeing probably the disbelief in his eyes. “You should. I've been around some of the top design engineers in the world for my whole life, and I know talent when I see it. You're way smarter than you give yourself credit for Vegeta, way more capable.”

Doesn't know what she's talking about. Could barely read or write. Had never been allowed any important development or bureaucratic duties by Frieza or Zarbon for that reason, and because he just couldn't understand the intricacies or subtleties of business and diplomacy.

Knew that now. Knew he wasn't smart enough for anything like that. Had taken a while to get it, but had, eventually.

Remembers trying to suggest ideas he'd foolishly had, one time, for the negotiation of a sale to an interested buyer who had been increasingly difficult to deal with. Remembers Zarbon and Frieza laughing right in his face, proceeding to tell him how utterly idiotic his ideas were, before dismissing him from the meeting. Remembers the same happening the few times he'd tried putting himself forward as a candidate for leading one of Frieza's terraforming teams. 

Not the job of a dumb animal. Brute force and destruction, that's what he'd been good for. What he'd been used for.

Wonders, sometimes, if Father had been smarter. Remembers Father seeming smart. Must have been, to be King. Couldn't rule an entire people without being smart, didn't think.

Thinks sometimes it had been fate then, that he'd never had the chance. Probably hadn't had what it takes anyway. To be a king. Probably would just have been another disappointment to Father, another failure of his son's to endure.

Maybe it was better, Father never seeing that. Maybe it was better Father had died when he did, spared the shame of his son's uselessness.

Thought though Father might be a little proud now, if he could see he'd become Super Saiyan.

… Would have liked Father to see that.

“Oh Vegeta,” Bulma's voice breaks through his thoughts. Tears in her eyes now, face pained as she looks back at him. “What did they do to you?”

Didn't matter what they did, he thinks. Was probably always going to be this way anyway.

Probably always was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, all my thanks and gratitude to you guys for all your support! I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and as always, if you have a chance, please leave me your thoughts.


	25. Chapter 25

Two weeks.

That's how late she was. 

Two weeks since she should have gotten her period.

She's freaking out. She knows that. Something like panic closing her throat up and making her mouth dry.

She keeps going over the exact date in relation to the last time she and Vegeta had had sex, hoping, stupidly, for some different outcome. Hoping it doesn't keep adding up.

But it does. Horribly it does.

Fuck, she'd forgotten to take her birth control. In her relief at him coming home, she'd fucking forgotten.

She'd told herself to keep it together, to not make any assumptions, to stay calm and patient. But that had been a lost cause, and today she'd finally snapped, going into town and buying every pregnancy test available at the little convenience store she'd walked into.

She stares down at the plastic stick in her hands now, regarding it with an overblown ambivalence, absurdly terrified of it confirming for her what she was already pretty damn certain of.

She's been sitting on the toilet for almost ten minutes straight, holding it in, not wanting to do it.

She knows she has to.

She just doesn't know what she's going to do once she does. 

“Please God, don't let me be pregnant.” She breathes aloud, finally building enough courage to go through with it.

Waiting for the results feels like holding her breath under water, the anticipation agonizing and fearful.

“You're pregnant” it reads.

Shit.

She goes through each kit, drinking stupid amounts of water along the way. Each result is the same. 

“Oh God, I'm pregnant...” she breathes, dropping the last test into the trash bin.

The initial wave of panic has receded now into an odd feeling of numb resignation, except for when she allows herself to contemplate what the reaction is going to be when she tells Vegeta.

Or her parents.

Or anyone else.

Oh good God, she doesn't want to even think about it.

For a moment, the thought of an abortion flashes through her mind, only as quickly as it comes, it's replaced by a feeling of overwhelming disgust at herself and a sense of crushing guilt.

She couldn't do that to Vegeta. 

She still can't get the image out of her mind of the look on his face when he'd asked her if she wanted him to leave, after revealing to her that he'd killed other men while out there in space.

He'd looked so much like a lost little boy. Like a child who had never really had a home, and was resigned to the fact that he never would.

Bulma couldn't lie by telling herself that his killing didn't bother her. It did. It really did. 

When he'd told her he'd been out there taking lives, said it so casually, and when he'd said he was good at it, she'd felt for a moment like she was going to vomit, her stomach churning in anxious nausea and fear.

The men he'd killed were, she knew, probably bad men. And that thought gave her some comfort. But she knew also, deep down, that he had killed many people who were innocent, who hadn't at all deserved it, and when he told her he had killed, good men or bad, it only served to remind her of that fact. Remind her that he was, in truth, a killer, just like everyone said, like he himself said. Reminding her, too, that she had willingly chosen to take up with a man like him. 

Thoughts like that also weighed her down with an awful sense of guilt. Thoughts which relegated him to a single, narrow definition. A killer. A murderer. When she knew he was so much more than that. When she knew, beyond all of it, he was a good man. 

“What proof do you have that he's a good person Bulma?” She can hear Yamcha asking her, his voice incredulous and irritated.

That was the problem. She didn't really have any proof, beyond what she could sense in her own heart. She didn't doubt her feelings for a moment, and the way Vegeta was with her was proof enough, she thought. But for others, they would need more. They saw Vegeta as selfish and arrogant and extremely dangerous. Even her own parents, whom she had assumed felt the same way about him that she did, had proven otherwise, Dad especially. They accepted Vegeta and welcomed him into their home, of course, and she knew they both were genuinely fond of him. But they too had their doubts and fears that he was unstable and could snap at any moment, go back to the way he had been when he'd first arrived on Earth.

She couldn't blame them. Not entirely. Vegeta had serious problems, that made only more evident to her with each day she spent around him. He was damaged, mentally unwell, those scars, she more than suspected, running far deeper than any physical scars marring his body. 

And that was the problem here too. She has no idea how he's going to react to hearing she's carrying his child. Has no idea what kind of a father he would even make. 

Logic tells her probably not a very good one. 

That thought again makes her feel guilty, knowing she's making assumptions about him the same as everyone else. 

Only she couldn't afford to be naive or stupid about this either. It wasn't just Vegeta she had to worry about in this situation, it was the baby too, assuming she went through with it. 

She finds herself having a difficult time envisioning Vegeta as ever being stable or reliable enough to make a dependable, supportive father. The way he was constantly disappearing for days and weeks, even months at a time. His outbursts of temper and violence. His mental and emotional trauma. 

Exposing a child to that kind of volatile and unpredictable environment didn't just seem like a naive endeavor. It seemed downright irresponsible, even dangerous. 

Bulma was a grown woman, capable of making her own judgments and decisions. She knew what Vegeta was and what kind of a man she was getting involved with when she'd decided to pursue a relationship with him.

A baby couldn't do that. A baby would have no choice, no say in the matter.

Vegeta hadn't meant to hurt her that one time when he'd sprained her wrist, she knows that. But what if he had a similar loss of control around an infant? Lost control of his strength with a baby the same way he had with her, even for just a moment? 

It would be an unrivaled disaster, she thinks. Would very likely end in tragedy.

She didn't think she could ever forgive herself, if she allowed herself to have this child and then let something like that happen to it. Let Vegeta somehow, even if only accidentally, hurt it.

Only thinking all this makes her ill with self-disgust and an almost suffocating sense of hypocrisy. She'd been ranckling inside for more than a year now over the treatment of all of her friends towards Vegeta, at their judgments and rejections of him. And here she was, doing the exact same thing, allowing her fear to spiral into an awful, nearly consuming doubt, making assumptions about him and his abilities, about his capacity for change. Allowing her fear to impact the trust she'd begun to build with him, the trust she felt towards him...

It would break his heart, she thinks, if he knew the kinds of terrible thoughts she was struggling with now.

How much worse would her betrayal be then, if she were to abort his baby without him ever even knowing about it?

If she did, and he ever did find out, she knows, that would be the end of their relationship. The trust she'd worked so hard to build between them would be shattered.

No, she thinks again, that wasn't an option. It just wasn't.

In a way, she realizes, that made her decision an easy one. She wasn't getting an abortion. Not getting an abortion meant there was no use in trying to keep it a secret. She had to tell Vegeta, before anyone.

It was figuring out how she was going to do that that was going to be the hard part.

//

There's a numb tingling sensation shooting through to her extremities, her mouth unbearably dry as she stands outside Vegeta's bedroom door. It's nerves. She's nervous. 

She doesn't quite know how she's going to do this.

She'd gone to the doctor, just to absolutely confirm what she already knew. 

She was pregnant alright. Four weeks, the doctor had told her. 

That had been the final barrier keeping her from confronting the issue with Vegeta. She had no excuses now.

That failed to make her resolve any firmer.

She'd been procrastinating all day since getting back home. Finding any and every excuse not to come up here and talk to her boyfriend. Occupying herself with trivial, unnecessary tasks. She'd started cleaning up and organizing her lab, for crying out loud. She never bothered with things like that. Mom or Dad were always the ones who came in and kept the place up. 

It was when she'd begun alphabetizing her text books that she'd realized what she was doing.

Stop being such a coward Bulma, she'd told herself, forcing herself at last to stop screwing around. Still, the march up to Vegeta's room had been slow and painfully ambivalent.

She's been standing outside his door for nearly five minutes, frozen, her mind racing with different scenarios of how this was going to go, what she was going to say, how she was going to broach what she needed to tell him.

Vegeta's door is cracked ajar, and she's shaken from her hesitation by the sudden sound of his voice, a low murmur like he's talking to himself, too quiet for her to really make out what he's saying. She turns her head closer, straining her ears to listen.

His speech is stilted, she notices, stopping and starting and stopping again, and as she steps nearer, she can at last make out the frustration in his tone, the irritated sighs between words.

Curiosity gets the better of her then, her reason for coming up here momentarily forgotten as she presses herself against the hallway wall outside his room, turning and peering through the crack in his door, into his room.

She sees Vegeta sitting cross legged there on the floor, wearing nothing but a pair of training shorts, scar riddled torso exposed, the angry red/pink of his most recent wound glaring from just above his hip, tearing along his side to disappear around to his back. There's an open book in his lap, his head bent over it in concentration. The sight is almost incongruous, with his stout, powerfully muscular frame and giant hands holding the flimsy looking paperback, a strange, almost sad awkwardness to the image.

He's reading to himself, she realizes after a few, long seconds. Reading aloud.

As she listens, that awkwardness only makes itself more understandable to her, and she feels her heart sink in almost crushing sadness.

He's reading from one of her trashy romance novels she often left lying around the house. Or, he's trying to. Only he's struggling. Struggling badly. It's becoming more and more evident as the seconds go by that he barely can read at all.

She didn't know. 

How could she have not known?

It had never occurred to her, the thought never crossing her mind. He'd never shown any indication that he couldn't read, never seeming to really struggle the way she thought a person who was illiterate might. 

Only when she thinks back, as always seemed to be the case, there were signs which stood out. His temper flaring when she'd tried lending some of her text books to him, the fact he never seemed interested in reading the morning paper, or using the internet, despite his obvious fascination with it as a concept. The fact that he occupied almost all of his time training, and never really anything else. She'd assumed that was just obsessiveness on his part, a drive to be the best, but now, realizing what she did, she thinks it might also be because he simply had nothing else to distract him, nothing else to do. Recalling further, she realizes she'd never seen him write anything down, never even sign his name to anything, and she wonders suddenly if he can even spell it.

She'd never even stopped to wonder about his education. She'd assumed it had been thorough, and good, considering he was legitimate royalty. All the nobility she knew of from her world had always been highly educated, and she'd simply assumed the same was true for Vegeta. But when she stops to truly think about it, about the kind of life he's had, working as essentially a slave under Frieza's rule, a life of brutal violence and cruelty and desperation, a life of just trying to survive day to day, it only made sense that he would never have been given the opportunity to indulge in more academic studies.

“... He... her beat... her beat... I... ful... her beatiful f... face...” he pauses, huffing in frustration again. She can see his hands gripping the book too tightly now, trembling slightly in irritated anger. Bulma's heart sinks further watching the display. He's trying so hard, and it's awful to watch. He starts up again suddenly, moving, it seems, to a different sentence. “... He tt... took her... he took her I... en h-hiss... hiss a-airms... airms... and... and k-kis... kiss-ed her pp-ppas... pass...

Damn it!” He snaps, tossing the book down.

Bulma watches in dismay as his head drops into his hands, shoulders slumping, entire form resigned. Giving up. Bulma had never see Vegeta give up on anything, the sight heartbreaking, upsetting.

She feels herself hesitating, not knowing what to do.

She knew Vegeta and his pride well enough at this point to know he wouldn't react well to being caught struggling like this, with anything. But knowing now about this, she doesn't think she could just stand by and continue to let him go on like this either. To let him go on at such an awful disadvantage. To not be able to read or write... she couldn't even imagine what that must be like.

And then there was the matter of why she had come up to see him in the first place.

An idea occurs to her then, a possible way to both help Vegeta and break the news to him that she was pregnant with his child.

It was a risk, she knows. Could backfire easily. But it was maybe also a way to build an even greater sense of trust between them, a way to galvanize their relationship together.

She waits a few moments longer before finally taking a deep breath, lifting her hand and knocking lightly on the door.

There's no response from inside the room for several seconds, and then she hears Vegeta shifting around, several seconds more before the door swings suddenly all the way open, his small, compact frame blocking her view into the room as he looks back at her. There's an open nervousness in his eyes for a moment, and she knows he's afraid she's heard him struggling to read to himself. It makes her hesitate a moment longer, before she forces herself to smile at him, leaning in and pressing a quick kiss to his cheek.

“Hey.” She greets, pulling back.

He nods at her after a moment, his normal manner of saying hello.

He hesitates again a moment.

“What are you up to?” She asks finally, bracing herself.

Another beat before she shakes his head.

“Nothing.” He answers flatly, falling silent again.

Bulma swallows, licking her lips, her stomach knotting with fresh nerves.

“Can I come in?” She asks.

For an instant she sees him stiffen, before he gives a jerky nod, moving aside to give her space.

Moving past him into the room, she sees the book he'd tossed to the floor is gone now, hidden away somewhere.

Somehow, that only makes her feel worse.

She stands there as she listens to him close the door, moving past her a moment later, lifting a tank top off the back of a chair and pulling it over his head, sitting down on the edge of his mattress and looking back at her expectantly.

He nods at the chair.

“Sit down.” He says, and Bulma complies, lowering herself into the seat, the same, uncomfortable silence filling the space.

He keeps looking back at her, his black eyes as always unsettling intense, and Bulma feels her courage failing her a moment.

She wishes he would say something, start the conversation maybe.

Oh, fuck it.

“I heard you reading to yourself.” She says. There was no point in beating around the bush. Not really.

Immediately she sees him stiffen, his eyes widening in surprise before they skitter away from her, staring pointedly away.

He says nothing, only she can see the awful tension in his frame, the way he's holding himself so suddenly still and awkward. He's embarrassed, clearly, humiliated even. That wasn't at all her intention and she knows she has to make him understand that, or this whole thing could turn quickly into a disaster.

“Vegeta, you should have told me. It's alright. It's nothing to be ashamed of. There are so many people who can't read or write, and it's got nothing to do with their intelligence. It's purely circumstantial. But it makes life a lot harder. I know you must be suffering because of it.”

He doesn't say anything, still not looking at her, and Bulma feels a slight wave of panic.

“I want to help you. I can help you learn to read better, and write too.”

“I don't need your help.” He finally says, voice clipped and angry, almost too soft to hear. He still won't look at her.

“Okay. I understand that.” She replies calmly. She can't get mad, or desperate. “But will you let me help you?”

Still he doesn't reply. But he doesn't say no either, which Bulma can only take to be a good sign. If she's careful, maybe she can make this work.

“Listen, I know how frustrating it is when you have a problem in front of you that you can't solve. It happens to me constantly. I think maybe you're starting out with books that are a little too difficult. I'm not saying you aren't smart enough to read them Vegeta. You're incredibly smart, and I can say that with total confidence. But if you've never had the basics of a thing taught to you, or had any kind of foundation to build off of, you can't just delve right in to the deep end and expect to be able to swim. You know what I mean?”

Again he doesn't answer, holding himself so stiffly she can practically see his tensed muscles trembling with the strain.

Maybe this hadn't been the best idea, she thinks, the panic threatening to surge up again.

“... I only want to help you Vegeta.” She says quietly, losing hope.

“I thought you knew.” He says suddenly, voice equally soft, the hostility gone from it.

Bulma blinks at him, not understanding.

“I'm sorry?” She says.

“I thought you knew already.” He repeats, finally looking at her. 

“... Oh.” Bulma says, realizing what he means. “Oh, I...”

He looks away again, arms folding painfully tight across his chest, shoulders hunched up. Defensive, ashamed looking.

“I didn't know.” Bulma admits after a moment. “I never had any reason to think...”

“Well now you do.” He cuts her off sharply, angry again. “You can stop pretending to think I'm so smart then. I don't know why you do that. I don't know why you try to make me out to be more than I am.”

Is that what he thought? That she was paying him false compliments? Gods, she never...

Her head shakes, upset.

“Vegeta I don't. I don't.” She repeats at his incredulous look. “I mean what I say to you. Please believe me.”

“Is that the reason why you no longer suggest taking me out into public?” He shoots back sharply. “Why you no longer have your little friends over when I'm here? I'm not as stupid as all that Bulma. I know I embarrass you.”

Bulma's mouth comes open to retort. To argue. To tell him he's wrong. 

Only she stops. She can't tell him that. She can't because it would be a lie.

She is embarrassed by Vegeta, a little. Fuck, it's horrible but it's true, and it was ironic that she was telling him now how smart he was while all the while assuming he wouldn't be able to see her own hesitation in announcing them as a couple. She was unintentionally undermining his own intelligence by doing so.

He shrugs, turning away from her again.

“You don't need to say anything.” He says softly. “It doesn't matter. I am what I am. No one has ever felt superior having me at their side. You would be a fool to feel otherwise”

God, hearing him talk about himself like this... It wasn't at all how Bulma had wanted this to go, her heart heavy and pained. Trying to lie to him, to placate him, she thinks, would be the worst move now.

“You're right.” She finally just admits, and he looks at her, only vague surprise in his features. “Vegeta, I'm not going to lie to you and say that I'm not a little worried about taking you out in public, or even worried about what other people are going to think of you, or me because I've chosen to be with you. I'm not a perfect person, and I have moments of weakness and selfishness just like everyone else. But you have to believe me, please believe me Vegeta, when I tell you that despite my own failings there, despite my sometimes selfish, childish fears, everything I say to you is true. Every compliment I've paid you, my admiration for you, it's all real. I'm not lying, or just trying to stroke your ego, or make you feel better when I say those things. I say them because I mean them and I think, with as smart as you are, you know that too. I'm not the kind of person that can be forced into saying or doing anything that I don't really want or believe in.”

She pauses, taking a deep breath.

Maybe trying to ease into this wasn't going to work. Maybe the best way to deal with it was just to say it outright, and let the chips fall where they may. Maybe, somehow, that would be the ultimate show of trust towards him.

“I want to help you Vegeta. I can help you learn to read and write better, if that's something you're interested in. If you aren't, that's okay too, and I promise you I won't ever think less of you for it. I don't think less of you now that I know. It's up to you. It's an open offer. If you want help, just tell me, and I'll be there. If not, alright.”

He's watching her intently now, expression careful and controlled. As usual, she can't really tell what he's thinking at all.

“Look,” she goes on after a long moment of silence. “I came here to tell you something. Something you need to know.”

She falters, voice fading off a moment as her nerves come raging back, her mouth going suddenly dry, the tips of her fingers tingling with anxious worry.

Oh God, she just had to say it. There was no point in this.

He shifts, turning more fully towards her, his attention fully on her. He can see her fear, she thinks. It's making him nervous.

It was now or never then. She had to say it. Had to tell him...

“What?” He asks when she fails to speak. “What?” He asks again, more emphatically, tone tight with tension.

Her eyes fill with tears and God she doesn't even know why, her head shaking. Blood rushing in her ears as her heart beats too hard in her chest.

“Vegeta...” she says, voice trembling, hot tears slipping, falling down her cheeks. 

He stands, taking a step towards her, stopping. He's staring at her like she's just told him the world is going to end. She's scared him. That wasn't what she meant to do. Couldn't let that go on.

She swallows past the tightness in her throat, mouth opening.

“Vegeta,” she says his name again. “... I'm pregnant.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you to all my readers and reviewers! I hope you continue to enjoy!


	26. Chapter 26

There's a woman pilfered from a recent purge working the canteen.

She's fat. Vegeta doesn't remember her looking that way when the clean-up crew first came in and lined all the survivors up. 

They'd raped her. 

Remembers the way they'd forced her down, one of the soldiers holding her legs open while the other laid on top of her. Remembers the way the woman's voice had sounded as she'd screamed. 

Couldn't take that. Hated that sound. Looked away. Felt sick at it, stomach tight and churning like he was gonna throw up. 

“Hey, monkey, you want some of this!?” One of them had noticed him standing there. Made the mistake of glancing back. Soldier on top of the woman had had his penis out, looked weird, engorged with blood. Did something obscene with his hips, grinning at Vegeta as he shoved his penis violently between the woman's legs.

Looked away again, sick feeling worse, head sick, spinning. Didn't want to be there. Wanted to get the hell out. The hell off that planet. 

Soldier's laughing.

“Told you he was queer.” One of them said. Ignored it. Been called that before. Plenty of times. Frieza would have had his head if he'd done anything about it anyway. Didn't tolerate retaliation for name calling.

Didn't even know what that meant. Queer. Asked Nappa about it once. Big man's face had gone pale when he did, stuttered a moment as he'd started to say something about two men being together. Didn't understand what that meant either. Thought maybe like their unit. They were always together, him and Nappa and Raditz. Didn't know what was strange about that. What was bad. 

Big man had gone quiet then, looking at him with that worried look he sometimes got.

“... You don't... don't feel that way 'bout guys, do you Vegeta?” He'd said, and Vegeta couldn't remember him ever sounding so scared.

“No.” He'd snapped, not even knowing what he was denying. Just Nappa looked so worried, thought it probably wasn't a good thing to say yes. 

Hadn't asked about it since. Still got called it a lot by the soldiers. Didn't care. Didn't matter what they thought.

Keeps looking at the woman, serving the slop they call food. Wonders how she got so fat. Menial labor like her received even fewer rations than the task forces.

“You like her, huh Vegeta?” Nappa elbows him. Shoves the big man away. Hates when he does that. Keeps trying to get him interested in girls. Doesn't seem to get none of the girls are interested in him. Doesn't want them anyway. Whole thing is disgusting. Something weak men do. Men with no control.

“I saw her before. A few purges back.” He says flatly. “She was thin then. I don't know how she gained so much weight.”

Nappa explodes into loud laughter. The way he laughs when Vegeta's shown his own ignorance about something. Feels himself stiffen, anger building quick in his chest. Has to control it. Getting worse, lately. Smallest things made him want to kill.

“Shut the fuck up Nappa.” Half growls, barely holding on. Nappa isn't dumb enough to ignore it, his chortles dying off.

Face feels hot. Embarrassed. Knows he's said something stupid. Doesn't know what though. Keeps his eyes fixed away, staring pointedly at the far wall.

“... What?!” He finally snaps. Hates this. Hates being so stupid. “Why are you laughing?”

Doesn't look at the big man. Face still hot. Sick familiar humiliation closing his throat up.

“... It's just...” Nappa starts after a moment, more pity in his voice now than amusement. Hates that worse. Hates that worse than anything. “She's not fat Vegeta. She's pregnant.”

… Pregnant? She was...?

Never seen a pregnant woman. Never, except... Remembers his mother, vaguely. Remembers she'd had his younger brother. Remembers, a little, what she'd looked like, big around the middle. Doesn't remember much else. Thinks of Tarble. Wonders if he's even still alive. Probably not. Wouldn't matter if he was. Never knew him anyway. Mother had taken him a few days after he was born. Left with him. Left him and Father alone...

“Bad luck for her anyway.” Nappa's voice snaps him from his thoughts. Looks up at the big man finally, sees him staring at the woman. 

Blinks. Never seen a pregnant woman on base. Never seen that.

“Why?” He asks. Could guess, really. No use for a baby here. Anything without a use didn't last long. Not around here. 

Nappa shrugs, turning back to his food.

“Baby'll either be killed or sold off. Kill her too, if she puts up a protest.”

Knew that. Never seen it. Knew how they disposed of unneeded things though, usually. Shot out into space. 

… Least it would be a quick death, he thinks. 

Something churns in his stomach. Feels sick a moment.

“Hey, listen to me Vegeta.” Nappa's talking again, looking at him now. “You make sure you use protection 'for you fuck one of these broads. Alright? Last thing we need is a half-breed runnin' around. Who knows how Frieza would respond to that shit.”

Face twists in disgust. Turns away. Wishes Nappa wouldn't talk like that, sometimes. 

Doesn't say anything. Didn't have to worry anyway. Twenty five and still hadn't ever had intercourse with a woman. Never would, probably. Didn't want to anyway. Didn't know how. Looked disgusting, from what he'd seen. Didn't know what the big deal was. 

Wonders if Nappa even knows. Keeps talking to him like he's experienced intercourse. Thinks it's just the big man trying to spare him more humiliation. 

Took him to his first brothel when he'd turned twelve. Pushed him into a room with some woman. Been scared. Been scared when she touched him. Panicked. Shoved her away, remembers. Had run then. Nappa and Raditz found him later, out on the streets. Asked what happened, what was wrong. Didn't know. Didn't know what was wrong. Just couldn't. Felt like suffocating, he'd been so scared a moment. Could see the woman hadn't wanted to either, anyway. Looked at him like he was dirt. 

“Hey little man, you alright?” 

“I'm fine.” He spits. Doesn't want Nappa's fucking pity. Didn't want that from anybody...

No room for it here.

No room for it anywhere.

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

She's crying. Thick tears streaming down her flushed face.

Hates this. Hates when she cries like this. Doesn't know what to do. Feels like it's his fault. Did something. Did something wrong again. Makes him feel helpless.

Doesn't understand what she's saying. Not really. Says she's pregnant. Says she's pregnant with his child. Says she forgot something. Forgot to do something to stop it from happening. Doesn't understand. Upset though. She's upset. Crying and scared and he doesn't know why, doesn't know what to do. She doesn't want it, he thinks. Doesn't want his child. Maybe why she's crying so badly. 

Makes sense, though. Makes sense she wouldn't want it. Not supposed to mate with another, not supposed to procreate unless they've chosen you as their life mate. What he'd been taught. Didn't want to promise herself to him that way. Guesses. Knew she wouldn't. Wouldn't make sense, if she did. Wasn't good enough for her. Must of been realizing that now.

Always knew this wasn't gonna last anyway. Knew that. Shouldn't be so upset about it. Had to control the haze. Anger tight and boiling in his chest suddenly. Had to control it. Couldn't let go.

“Vegeta, say something...” she cries, wiping at her face, and she looks like a child, he thinks. Ignorant and lost and scared.

Didn't know what to say anyway. 

Didn't know anything about children. No children on base where he'd grown up. Remembers that. Remembers he'd been the only child. The only one out of the hundreds of thousands there. Had never really been a child though. Been expected to perform as any adult would. Didn't matter he was a boy. Couldn't keep up, then you had no use. No use, no need to have you around. 

Remembers Zarbon teaching him that, mainly. Beat the shit out of him every day. Beat him to death almost, some days. No use for children. No use for childish things. No room...

Doesn't know what to say.

Didn't want a child. Didn't think. Never thought of anything like that. Never thought... never thought he'd lived long enough to do anything like...

“Vegeta?” Says his name. Thoughts grind to a halt. Looks at her. Crying still. Calmer though. Face smooth again, beautiful. Fear in her eyes though. Still so much fear. 

Shakes his head.

Wants him to say something. Doesn't know what to say.

“So that's it?” Bulma says. Voice angry now. She's angry, wiping at her eyes violently. “That's all you have to say? Nothing? Vegeta, I'm going to have your child! Do you understand that? Do you understand what that means?!”

Yelling at him now. She's yelling, face twisting and mad. Hate. Recognizes that. Hates him. Hates him now. 

Red haze again, anger like drowning. Can't breathe, can't think. Her voice harsh, crashing inside his ears. Hurts. Making him angry. Making him so angry.

“Vegeta...”

“Shut UP!” Voice ragged and animal and loud. Watches her flinch back, face pale. Can't stop shaking. Doesn't know what she wants. Doesn't know what she wants from him. Angry. Wants to break something... wants to destroy...

“... Vegeta...”

Shakes his head, teeth hard together. 

“Don't...” he warns. Can't hold on. Can't hold on like this. Losing it. Can feel it, he's losing it. “Don't talk anymore. Don't say anything else.”

Stares at him, look of shock and fear on her face. Her perfect face. Stupid. He'd been so stupid. Fucking... knew... knew she couldn't really want... wasn't good enough. Too... too fucking ugly. She was too... too much... too perfect... could have anyone... anyone she wanted. Stupid, stupid vanity, let him think... let him think for a moment she could... should have known better. Fucking... should have known. Seen enough women look at him with disgust to know...

Knew he couldn't read now too. Knew that. Must think he was even more pathetic. Must be sickened by him. What chance... shouldn't ever have thought he had a chance... couldn't stand up to her. Wasn't... wasn't enough... never had been...

“Told you you couldn't trust the fucking bitch.” Nappa says from the corner.

Hands come up over his ears. Doesn't want to hear that. Doesn't want to listen to the big man. Shut up, shut up, shut up!

“What made you ever think you could get with a broad like her anyway Vegeta?” Raditz says behind her. “Even the sluts never wanted you.”  
Couldn't... didn't want... didn't want to...

“Vegeta.” Bulma's voice. Feels soft hands round his wrists. Standing in front of him, face close, soft hands holding his wrists. “Look at me. Look at me Vegeta.”

Doesn't want to. Doesn't want to play this game anymore. Doesn't want to do this...

“Look at me Vegeta.” She says. He does. Blue eyes wet with tears, face twisted in pain. “I'm sorry. Vegeta, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get angry. I'm just scared, God damn it. I'm scared because... because I don't know what the hell's going to happen. I don't know what to do.”

Doesn't know why she's telling him this. Doesn't know what she wants.

“Will you at least say something, tell me what you're thinking?” She asks. Voice pleading, desperate.

“... There's no place for children.” He blurts. First thing he thinks. Only thing he knows about that. No place for children. No place for them in any world. 

Wrong thing to say, he thinks, watches her face crumple. 

“... Do you really think that?” She asks, voice quiet. 

Doesn't know what she wants him to think. Doesn't know what else there is.

“... What I know.” He answers. All he knows. Never any place for children where he was.

Watches her head shake, fresh tears slip down.

“I'm keeping it Vegeta. I'm keeping the baby. Whether.. whether you want it or not. Do you understand?”

Doesn't understand that. Doesn't know what she means by that. Doesn't understand what he has to do with it.

“If you want to leave...” she says, voice shaking, scared. “if you want to leave because of it, it's... it's fine. If you don't think you can handle...”

Panic in his chest. Knew she didn't want him. Wanted him to go. Wanted him gone.

“You don't want me here anymore.” Says. Doesn't mean to. Can't stop himself.

“What, no... No Vegeta, that isn't what I said. I said if you wanted to go, I would understand. I don't... I don't want you to leave though. If you stayed it would... it would be better. It would be a lot better.”

Doesn't understand what she wants. Keeps saying different things. Thoughts all confused. Can't think...

“I don't want to raise a child alone Vegeta.” She says. “If I could have you here to do it with me, that's what I would want.”

Raise a child.

Doesn't know what that means either. Raise it how?

Wants him with her for it, she says. Wants him to stay. Didn't think... sure for a moment she wanted him gone, sure she hated him, for a moment. Anger in her voice had been real. Mad at him because he didn't know what she wanted, didn't know what to say. Stood there dumb and mute like always, afraid of saying the wrong thing. Made her mad anyway for saying nothing. Didn't understand any of this.

“Vegeta, what... what did you mean when you said there's no place for children? I need to understand what that means.”

Means what it means, he thinks. Wasn't complicated.

“Children are useless.” He answers. What he'd been taught his whole life. What he'd been shown. Hadn't ever been a child himself. Not really. Kill a grown man when he'd been four years old. That's what he'd been expected to do, what he could do. Made sure he wasn't useless. Killed plenty of children. Killed them for getting in the way. Killed them because he'd been ordered to. Killed them because they did nothing but stand there and scream and cry and couldn't stand it, couldn't, couldn't. Wanted to scream back at them. Same age as him and all they could do was scream and cry. Disgusting, useless. Deserved to die. They deserved it, he thought. Couldn't fight. Couldn't even fight to survive. So what right did they have to live?

Look on her face is sad again, pitying. Looks away. Doesn't need that. Doesn't want it.

“Children aren't useless Vegeta.” She says, and her hand is on his face. Wants to lean into it. Holds still though. Still as death. “They mean our future. Don't you see that? It's like you live on through them. If you raise them right, they'll be a testament to your own accomplishments as well as theirs.”

Doesn't understand what she means. Sounds absurd. Didn't care about living on through anything else. Lived for himself. Lived for right now. Could only assume right now. Never assume you'll be alive tomorrow. Learned that a long time ago. 

Bulma sighs, looking away from him finally. Stopped crying at least. Didn't like to see her cry.

“Just...” she says. Stops. “... Will you stay with me Vegeta? Even if I keep this baby? I don't... don't expect anything, just... will you stay?”

Doesn't want to go. Didn't care if she had a baby or not. Didn't care about any of that. Just wanted to stay with her. Didn't want her to tell him to go. Didn't know if she was asking because she wanted him to go or stay. Said she wanted him to stay. Wanted to believe that. Wanted to so much...

“... I can stay?” He says. Doesn't know what she wants.

“Vegeta, I want you to stay. I said so and I mean it. I'm asking if that's what you want.”

Heart beating hard, blood rushing. Asking him if he wanted... 

He nods. Doesn't think. Wants to stay here with her. Doesn't want to go anywhere else. Not anymore. Wants to stay with her.

“Okay.” She says. “Okay. I'm glad Vegeta. I'm glad you want to stay.”

Voice sounds unhappy though, he thinks. She sounds unhappy, somehow. Knot in his stomach from it. Worry and fear. Said something wrong again. Doesn't know what.

“... I...” he starts, stops. “I want to stay...” 

She knew that already. Sounded like an idiot to her, probably. 

She only nods, eyes sad still.

“I know Vegeta. It's good. Listen, I'm... I'm gonna go for a walk for a little while. I need to think and...”

“I'll go with you.” He says. Doesn't want her to go. Can see she's upset. Doesn't understand why. Doesn't...

“No.” She says sharply, and fear is worse, tight and nauseating in the pit of his stomach. “No.” Repeats more gently. “I... I need to be alone for a little while Vegeta. Alright? I have to think some things through.”

“Don't lie to me.” He says. Angry again, suddenly. Hates this. Hates that he said something and she won't say what. “You're upset.”

Looks at him with weary eyes, gaze sliding away again. Watches as her arms come up around herself, turning from him.

“... Vegeta, I really don't...” starts to say. 

“Don't lie to me woman. You're angry. Tell me what it is.” Cuts her off. Anger building in his chest.

“You wanna know what it is Vegeta?” Turns on him, face twisting again in fury. “Fine, I'll tell you! I'm fucking pregnant with your child, and you haven't shown the least amount of excitement or interest or even concern. You act like it's something completely meaningless. Something as insignificant as wiping shit off your shoe! How the hell am I supposed to react to that?! You're going to be a father Vegeta, and the most you can come up with is to say that children are useless?! What kind of callous, horrible person says something like that? What kind of man...”

Loses it. Red haze explodes, vision blanking out, thoughts scatter to nothing.

“THEY ARE USLESS!” Screams, voice too loud against his own ears. Bulma stumbles back, eyes wide. Doesn't care. Doesn't care anymore. Stupid, ignorant woman. Stupid fucking bitch. Didn't understand. Didn't understand anything. Steps towards her, right against her, pushes her back against the wall. Eyes wide and horrified, terrified. Doesn't care. Thinks he's something he's not. Thinks she can tell him how things are. Doesn't understand. She doesn't understand how things are. How anything has ever been. Doesn't understand fucking anything.

“You want to know what happened to children where I came from?” He hisses at her, holding her arms. Tears in her eyes. Doesn't matter. Has to know. She has to know what he really is. “They died.” He tells her. “They all died. There were no children on Freiza 79. I was the only one.”

“I don't want to hear this...” Starts to say, turns her face from him. 

“What you want doesn't matter. It's the truth. There were no children because any child born on base was immediately disposed of. They were considered a waste of resources and time and so they were killed, their mothers killed if they tried to resist.”

She's crying again, trembling violently in his hold. Keeps talking. Needs to know. She needs to.

“Look at me woman. I only kept myself from being killed by proving useful. I was good at what I did. I was the fucking best at it. You know what that is. Killing. I've killed countless people. I've killed countless children.”

“I don't want to hear this! Sh... shut up! Shut up!” She cries. Tries pulling away from him, won't look at him.

Countless nights, he thinks. Countless nights and he couldn't stop seeing all their faces. Horror in their eyes. Couldn't sleep those nights. Could never sleep.

“No! You want to know what kind of a man I am. What kind of a man would say what I did?! I've killed children Bulma. I've killed them because they were in the way. Because they were useless!”

Tears away from him finally. Lets her. Runs from him. Voice broken with sobs. 

Lets her go. No point in going after her.

She knew now. Would hate him for sure. Didn't matter. No point in pretending anymore. He'd been a fool.

A damned, stupid fool...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again as always, my deepest thanks to all my readers and reviewers! You guys make this all possible, and are such an inspiration! I hope you continue to enjoy, and again, if you have the chance, please let me know your thoughts!


	27. Chapter 27

She barely makes it to the toilet in time before she throws up, nausea and terror spinning her head, making her sick.

She can't stop shaking, her heart pounding furiously behind her ribs, her knees weak, collapsing under her as she wretches.

She can't stop hearing his voice. The low, animal cruelty as he'd told her. No regret there. No guilt.

“I've killed countless children...”

Can't stop seeing the twisted fury of his face.

She didn't recognize him. Didn't recognize the man she'd come to know over these last two years. 

He'd seemed to her, in that moment, more like the heartless killer he'd first appeared as, when he'd arrived here on Earth the first time. Like the terrifying monster who had nearly killed Goku... who had nearly killed Gohan and Krillin too. Who had stood by and watched his partner murder Yamcha, and Tien, and Chiaotzu and Piccolo. His face... God, his face when he'd said...

She begins crying, her head sinking down to her arms, curling them over. She wants to vanish. To disappear forever. She can't help it. Helpless, wretched sobs shake her. She doesn't even try to stop it. Couldn't anyway. 

It was over, she thinks. Her relationship with him. She couldn't... God, she couldn't be with him. She couldn't be with a man like that. They'd all been right. All of them. Yamcha, and Krillin, and Tien. They'd all told her Vegeta was a bad man. A heartless, cold killer. A man she couldn't trust. She'd refused to listen. Hadn't wanted to believe it. Had refused to believe it. She'd thought... she'd been so sure he was good.

She should have known better. God damn it, she should have known.

If she was being honest with herself, deep down, she had. It was only logical. He'd destroyed whole planets. Populated planets. Mathematically it was impossible for him not to have taken the lives of children in that process.

It was only... the way he'd said it. Bulma had known in that instant, as the words had left his mouth, that it hadn't just been removed mass killing. He had murdered children with his own two hands. Had taken their lives intimately.

Oh God, it was too much... too much to take.

She throws up again violently.

How could she have ever... ever thought it would be possible to make a family with him? How could she have ever thought it would be alright to have him around a child, to expect him to make a decent father? She must have been mad. Delusional. He was a murderer.

Somehow it had taken him saying what he did for her to really, truly realize that.

And suddenly she's angry. So... so fucking angry. At herself, mostly. At him too though. Feels like suddenly he'd somehow tricked her, somehow fooled her into thinking he was a better person than he was. 

She knows that isn't entirely true. She'd seen what she wanted to see. She hadn't been unaware of his past. Hadn't been unaware of how violent he could be, or his temper. She just hadn't... allowed herself to really look at any of those things. She'd somehow convinced herself that all of that was okay. That it was something she could overlook.

But she couldn't. She understands that now. She couldn't overlook what Vegeta was. How could she? 

What kind of person would that make her if she did?

Only...

“You want to know what happened to children where I came from? They died. They all died. There were no children on Freiza 79. I was the only one.”

She'd never considered... What must that have been like? Being the only child on an entire world? Surrounded by an army of vicious, heartless mercenaries? Surrounded by adults who expected you to keep up or be killed? She'd never thought...

But no, no, she couldn't do that. She couldn't start feeling bad for him again. That was what had led to this whole mess in the first place.

Oh, but God, she can't stop thinking of all those moments... Can't stop thinking of how he'd been with her the night he'd finally come back. How sweet he'd been, how gentle and loving and...

Fuck... fuck, fuck, fuck!

She loved him. She couldn't... couldn't just turn that off all of a sudden. She couldn't stop feeling the way she did towards him.

And suddenly she's sobbing again, overcome with a sense of grief beyond anything she's ever known. It feels like... Gods, it feels like she'd lost someone, like someone had died, someone she'd cared about as much as anyone. 

Why did this have to happen?! Why did he have to say the things he had? Tell her those things?!

It wasn't fair! None of this was fair! And now what was she going to do? She was pregnant with his child. She couldn't get rid of it. She didn't... didn't want to do that. But she couldn't depend on Vegeta anymore to be a good father. She couldn't depend on him for anything. She wasn't... wasn't even sure she wanted him in the house anymore. Not after what he'd said. Not after...

“Sweetie?” 

She jumps at the sound of her mothers voice behind her, a soft hand on her shoulder.

Stupidly she wipes at her face, as if she could hide the evidence of her tears when just a moment before she'd been sobbing loudly.

“Go away Mom.” She answers instead, hoping it works, knowing it won't. Mom had heard her crying, and her mother had never been able to walk away from her daughter in distress.

“Sweetie, what's wrong? Why are you crying?” She asks predictably. 

Bulma keeps her back to her, refusing to turn around. She feels suddenly ashamed, and so, so stupid. She doesn't want to look at Mom, doesn't want her to see.

“Bulma...”

“Mom, go away!” She cries, desperate. She can't take this. Can't deal with any of this now.

“Bulma, you know I can't do that. Honey, I haven't seen you this upset in a long time. What's going on? You know you can talk to me.”

She holds herself still, listening to her mother shift around her, lowering herself at her side. She feels a kind hand on her back, comforting, warm, and whatever resistance she'd been holding to crumbles, and she turns, falling into her mothers arm, sobbing against her like a pathetic child.

Mom just holds her, soothing her gently, letting her cry.

The words just start pouring out of her, a rush of desperation and grief, incoherent.

“H-he's a monster, Mom, he's a... the things he said, and I c-can't... can't...” 

“Shh, shh, baby, slow down. It's alright. What are you talking about? Who's a monster?”

“V-Vegeta!” She cries, clinging to her mother's blouse. “He... th-the things he said, God... he... I do-don't... I don't want him here anymore. I don't want him in the h-house...”

“Oh, oh Bulma, I'm sure it can't be as bad as all that. Come on now, it's alright.” Her mother says, and Bulma shakes her head.

She didn't understand. How could she. She hadn't seen Vegeta, hadn't heard him.

“Well what did he say?” She asks when Bulma says nothing further. “Did you two have a fight?”

Bulma doesn't know what had happened between them. She guesses it was a fight. But that wasn't what had her so upset. She doesn't know to explain to Mom without just saying it. Without just revealing the awful truth.

She swallows, her throat suddenly tight, trepidation making her head spin.

She wanted Vegeta gone. And she didn't. She was afraid of telling Mom what he'd told her. She didn't want... Gods, she didn't want her parents to turn against Vegeta.

She didn't know what the hell she wanted.

“He...” she starts, stops. She doesn't think she can say this. Not out loud. Saying it out loud somehow made it more real.

“It's okay honey. You can tell me.” Mom says. She sounds so certain, so reassuring.

And suddenly it all just comes rushing out. She can't stop it.

“He's a child murderer Mom! He... h-he told me he's killed children. He s-said countless... countless children! He said he killed them b-because... because they were in the way, because... because t-they were useless and anything useless had to be d-disposed of!”

She feels her mother stiffen around her, obviously shocked. How could she not be? That was it then. There was no way she would be able to look past it, just like Bulma couldn't.

“He said that?” Mom breathes out after a moment of silence, and Bulma can only nod, helpless, hopeless. She can't take this. She can't, God...

“Why?” Mom asks. “Why did he tell you this? How did it come into your conversation?”

How was she supposed to explain this to Mom? How could she tell her she was pregnant now?

She's silent too long, and she feels her mother pull back, her hands on her shoulders, looking intently into her face. Bulma feels too ashamed to look back.

“Bulma...”

“I'm pregnant.” She blurts. Doesn't even think about it. Just comes out, and again her mother falls quiet.

She can't look at her. Bulma can't bear to see what her reaction is. Probably horror. 

“With his child?” She asks after another long moment, and Bulma nods, fresh tears swelling in her eyes, slipping down her cheeks. She wipes half-heartedly at them.

“And you told him?” 

Another nod, more tears.

“Bulma... I want you to take a deep breath, okay? Just try to calm down for the moment. I know this is hard.” Mom starts again. “Can you look at me?”

She doesn't want to. She's so ashamed, so embarrassed. How had she gotten into this situation? How had this happened?

“Please Bulma.”

She forces her face up to her mother's. It's a struggle. She can't remember ever seeing her mother look so serious, all the carefree, Pollyanna personality seemingly gone from her features.

She reaches out, taking Bulma's tear soaked face in her hands, looking at her intently.

“Bulma, baby, I want you to listen to what I'm going to say, alright? Will you listen?”

Bulma nods. She hardly knows what else she can do. She's never felt so helpless or stupid in her entire life, she thinks.

Mom smiles at her, a reassuring expression.

“Okay. Good. Listen to me. That boy isn't a monster.”

Bulma's eyes widen, shock shooting through her like lightening. That hadn't been what she'd expected Mom to say. Not at all.

“What?! Mom, how can you...?” She starts.

“No, please, just listen to me Bulma. Listen to what I have to say. I consider myself to be a pretty good judge of character, and I know what you think of me honey. You think because I'm always so positive and enthusiastic that I don't see the way things really are. But Bulma, you have to understand that's just the way I choose to be. It doesn't mean I'm blind to the ugliness in the world. Or the bad things. Believe me baby, I've seen more than my fair share of tragedy. I've also met more than my fair share of bad apples, and I can tell you with certainty that Vegeta isn't one of them. Now you have to listen, because this is important.”

Her mother stops, taking a deep breath, her eyes, for a moment, sliding away from Bulma, staring off past her.

“Circumstances have a lot to do with how people act sometimes. What your situation is, what you're surrounded by. It's easy for people to cast judgments on each other. To jump to conclusions without knowing everything.” She looks back to Bulma, and Bulma is taken aback by the tears in her mother's eyes. “A lot of people don't even realize that they themselves would be capable of some pretty awful things if they were pushed far enough. In the case of that boy...” she stops again, and for a moment she seems to struggle to compose herself. “In the case of that boy, I think it's pretty clear he's come from a very hard background. Do you remember when you were younger sweetie, I used to volunteer working with disadvantaged and abused children?”

Bulma did remember that, vaguely. But she'd been so young when Mom did that, her memories of it weren't great. She'd never asked her mother much about it.

“Well, a lot of the boys and girls I worked with, they'd done some pretty terrible things, some of them. Theft, drug dealing, arson. Some of them had even killed other children. And the ones who'd done all those terrible things, they all had one thing in common. I'm sure you can guess what that was Bulma. They'd all come from even worse backgrounds. Backgrounds of severe abuse. Physical, mental, sexual. Usually, the awful things they did, it was either because they'd been taught to do those things, or because they had to do them in order to survive. Sure, some were just bad apples, like I said. But most of them ended up the way they were because someone had conditioned them into being way. I know you know where I'm going with this. Vegeta is one of those children Bulma. I can see it written all over him. We all know he's done terrible things. Unspeakable things, even. But we know very little about his background. About what kind of situation he's coming from. But I've seen enough abused children in my life to know what the signs of it look like on someone, and I can say with absolute certainty Vegeta was an abused child. How severe that abuse was, I can't say, but it was bad enough that he wears the effects of it still, as a grown man.”

Bulma knew. She knew well enough to realize her mother was right.

It wasn't just abuse...

Vegeta had been a child soldier.

“There were no children on Frieza 79. I was the only one.”

A child soldier, trained to kill other soldiers, trained to kill adults and women and children. Trained to kill anyone and anything that got in the way.

A child struggling to survive in a world of hostile brutality, merciless and unsympathetic to his age or circumstances.

Bulma knew that. 

“I don't think Vegeta has a real concept of what role children are meant to fill sweetie.” Her mother says softly. “You told him you were pregnant, but to him, he's probably only ever been shown that unless a child can prove itself useful to an adults agenda, then there's no place for them. I don't think he understands what a father probably even is.”

And again she's sobbing, only there's no anger now, only regret, and heartbreak.

Gods, gods, what did she do? What had she been thinking?

She'd known what Vegeta had done. She'd known it deep down. Only somehow his giving voice to it was what had turned her against him. He'd shared the information with her willingly, and she'd turned around and blamed him for that. Blamed him for shattering her rose colored view of him. How could she do that, she wonders. How could she blame him when he was only being honest with her? And now with what Mom was saying...

It was just so fucking sad. 

She thinks then of standing outside Vegeta's door, listening as he'd struggled to sound out simple words to himself from some trashy romance novel. 

That as much as anything was evidence of the kind of disadvantage and neglect Mom was talking about. He'd never even been given the chance at a proper education, never achieved even a basic reading level. And yet, Bulma knows, he was incredibly intelligent, incredibly perceptive and astute. She can't imagine herself being so plainly smart as that and yet being hampered by such a gross, humiliating handicap as illiteracy. 

She hadn't known. Gods, she hadn't even considered it. It makes her wonder what else then she didn't know about him, what other disadvantages he'd suffered, beyond just the general knowledge that from the youngest age he'd been surrounded by and expected to perform brutal and horrendous acts of violence.

Still... even considering all that, even knowing she'd been, again, too quick to judge, she couldn't dismiss her fears or apprehension. She felt for him. She truly did. Knew, even, that it wasn't right to condemn him for his past. Not without full context. But she also knew she couldn't allow her pity or sympathy to jeopardize the life of her child. If Vegeta turned out being somehow violent or abusive towards this baby, then that truly would mark the end of her relationship with him. She wouldn't tolerate that. Not for a single instant. She wouldn't care what he'd been through, if he became a threat to her son or daughter.

She can only pray then that wouldn't be the case. That he wouldn't prove as heartless as he'd just now presented himself to be.

“You should give him a chance sweetheart.” Her mother says as if reading her thoughts, reaching out and cupping her face gently. “I know it's hard. It's always so difficult when you find things out about the person you're with that are ugly or even unforgivable. Sometimes you can't get past those things. Sometimes you can. But you should never give up without at least trying. And I don't think Vegeta would have told you what he did if he was some remorseless monster. Monster's don't usually tell people what they are or what they've done because everything they do and say is a manipulation. They lie because everything about them is a lie, because they enjoy pulling the wool over people's eyes. Vegeta's never lied to you, has he baby? He's always been such an honest boy.”

That was true. That was true to a painful, often uncomfortable degree.

Vegeta had never lied to her. He'd never presented himself as something he wasn't. He'd never pretended to be better than he was. More often than not, in truth, he presented himself to be worse, a thread of self-hate running through his words and actions to a heartbreaking degree.

If he was really this awful, bad person, wouldn't he have bullshitted her when she'd confronted him about his words, instead of laying it out in the open what he'd done? Wouldn't he have tried to fool her, or trick her? That's what bad people did. They presented a facade so that later they could hurt you more easily.

Vegeta had never done that. Not ever.

“Oh, beautiful girl...” Mom reaches out, wiping the tears from her cheeks, pulling her into a hug. “this should be a happy occasion. You're going to be a mother!”

Bulma half laughs, more like a sob.

This should be a happy occasion. She wants it to be. She wants that so much.

She just doesn't know if it can be.

Maybe Vegeta was too damaged for this to ever work out. For anything to ever be really alright between them.

Somehow that thought only worsens her sense of guilt.

It was like she was writing him off as a lost cause. Like he was just too fucked up for her to help. Like it wasn't even worth trying.

But that wasn't true.

God damn it, despite everything, she loved him. She knew she did.

“Why don't you go and try to talk to him again baby?” Mom says, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Try explaining to him how important this is to you. And try to be patient with him. Give him time to understand.”

Mom was right, Bulma thinks, wiping at her eyes.

She needed to try again. For her sake. For the baby's sake. And for Vegeta's sake too. She'd had such a knee jerk reaction, had panicked. 

Talking to Mom had calmed her back down.

She reaches out, pulling her mother into another tight hug, burying her face against her shoulder.

“That's my girl.” Mom says, squeezing her back. “That's my strong girl.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, all my thanks to my readers and reviewers! Well, things were bound to come to a head eventually between Vegeta and Bulma, and there's some more rocky times ahead, but at least Bulma's mother was able to talk her down some.


	28. Chapter 28

“Does it hurt when I do this?” Nappa presses two thick fingers against the joint of his right knee. Can't quite keep the gasp of pain from slipping past his lips, eyes stinging as he nods emphatically, wanting the big man to stop. 

Big man does, concerned look on his face again.

“And this? This hurt too?” He takes gentle hold Vegeta's head, turning it slow to the left. Pain is like hot fire lancing up into the base of his skull and down his spine, pooling in a sickening rage through his tail, radiating to the tip. Tail frizzes up, and he gasps loud this time, eyes filling with unwanted tears. Again he nods, harder now. Wants big man to stop. Really wants him to stop.

Was in so much pain lately. Could hardly move. Everything hurt. Fingers and toes. Fucking eyeballs. His bones. Bones most of all.

Pain had been growing steadily worse over the last several months. Had tried to hide it long as he could. Tried to work through it. Knew he couldn't afford not to. Knew if they didn't go out on mission, they wouldn't eat. Wouldn't get all the things they needed.

Gotten too much though, finally. 

Raditz had noticed him limping round their apartment, asked him what was wrong. Tried lying. Tried telling him nothing. Only hadn't been nothing. Had thought he was dying, was in so much pain. Today worse than ever before. Felt dizzy and nausea with it. Started shaking, after a while. Raditz noticed that too. Followed him to the washroom, and hadn't made it in time before he'd thrown up all over their floor. Had wanted to cry. Eyes stinging with tears. Wouldn't let them fall though. Couldn't ever do that. 

Tried to scare Raditz off. Told him to go fuck himself, threatened him even when he came near. Told him he'd kill him if he touched him.

Raditz hadn't listened. Picked him up and brought him into the main space, laid him on his bed. Went to get Nappa then. Didn't want Raditz to leave. Stupid, childish weakness. Didn't want Raditz to leave him there by himself.

Had cried a little, when Raditz had gone. Thought it was alright, to cry a little, long as nobody saw. 

“It's his bones.” Raditz says now, standing over Nappa's shoulder. “They're growing brittle.”

Nappa's got that worried look, face tight and unhappy.

Wants to curl up and close his eyes. Just wants to sleep. Maybe sleep and never wake up again.

“I know.” Nappa answers. “Fuck... I know.”

“We gotta do something.” Raditz again. “We can't let this continue. He'll be too broken down to do anything, and if that happens...”

“I know!” Nappa snaps. Raditz falls silent.

Doesn't have to say what'll happen. He goes lame, Frieza won't have any use for him any more. Won't have any use for any of them then. 

Big man sighs, rubs big, rough hands over his face.

“That doctor lady's been warning me about this.” He says. Sounds more like he's talking to himself. 

“... And?” Raditz asks.

“His nutrition's bad. And he's gettin' beat up too much. Says all the trauma his body's takin' and not enough food is stuntin' his growth. Says it could be permanent if we... if we don't do somethin' soon.”

Doesn't want to hear this. Doesn't.

Just turned eleven years old. Shoulda' been taller by now., and broader. Shoulda' been at least up to Raditz' waist by now. Wasn't though. Barely came up half past his thigh. Still only weighed forty five pounds.

“And what if it's too late already?” Raditz says.

“Shut up.” Nappa snaps. “It ain't. We can fix it.”

Wishes they would stop talking about him. Was right there. Could hear what they were saying. Wishes they wouldn't talk about him like he couldn't.

“How long've you been in this kind pain Vegeta?” Big man's asking suddenly. Blinks up at him. Thought scatter a moment. Hard to get them back together.

Isn't sure. Can't remember when it really started to get bad like this. Had always had some pain. Can't remember ever not having some.

Looks away. Feels ashamed. Was weak. Shouldn't be a problem. Shoulda' just been able to suck it up and push past it. That's what Father would've done...

“Vegeta, do you know?” 

Shakes his head slowly. Bones in his neck hurt so much. 

“Has it been a few days? Weeks?”

Months, he thinks. At least six months. Only longer. Doesn't know exactly when.

Hadn't told anyone. Couldn't let them think he was weak. Was team leader. Needed to be strong.

“If it's a problem of food, we gotta find a way to get more for him.” Raditz says.

Nappa keeps looking at him, doesn't say anything. Fucking worried look, and Vegeta wishes he would stop. Fucking stop!

“I'm fine.” He says. Voice sounds weak to his own ears. Doesn't feel fine. Feels like he might not make it. Grabs hold his tail, squeezes it between his fingers. Nappa'd been teaching him how to build up resistance to the nerve endings there. Made him feel better, made him feel strong, knowing no one could grab his tail and make him paralyzed, like before. Liked to test it out, all the time now. Squeezed his own tail. Hurt still. Hurt bad. Made him know he was strong, that he could take it.

Raditz'd never learned. Vegeta liked to tease him about it, sometimes. 

Hurts worse now than usual, squeezing down on it. Head goes spinning a moment, has to let go. Tail falls limp on the bed beside him. Stares down at it. Thinks it looks pitiful. Tail had been broken too many times, wasn't straight anymore. Had all kinds of kinks and crooks in it now. Used to admire his tail. Always thought it was a fine tail, straight and long and thick furred. All crooked now, here and there patches of it burned away, leaving ugly bald spots. 

Nappa and Raditz arguing again. Standing on the other side of the room, but he can still hear everything they're saying.

“You still got that loot from our last purge?” Big man's asking. “We could pawn it and make some extra credit's that way.”

Raditz shaking his head no.

“I unloaded that shit about a month ago. Don't you remember?” 

Big man cursing under his breath.

“We could try selling some of the furniture.” Raditz goes on.

“Yeah? And then what? Nobody's gonna want this junk anyway, 'cept maybe some of the lower grunts, and they won't be able to pay much anyhow.” Nappa snaps. “Even then, it ain't gonna solve the problem long term.”

“Well what if we brought him to the infirmary, asked that lady doctor what she thinks? Maybe she can give him something...” 

“You know it costs credits every time one of us makes a trip there. And we're runnin' low. Next purge won't be for another few cycles, probably.”

Voices fade, white, shapeless noise. Doesn't matter. Doesn't matter what they say.

Turns over, bites down hard on his lip to keep from making any noise, lids clamping against the stinging in his eyes.

Lifts his tail, grabs hold of it again. Just holds it. Remembers Papa, when he'd been a child, holding his tail in his own. Remembers how they'd walk the halls of the palace together then, just like that. His tail curled round Fathers. Thought, then... had thought nothing in the world could touch them. Been so sure. Thought they could rule the whole universe, the two of them. Thought they could do anything, be anything.

Misses his father. Misses him so much, sometimes.

Can't think of that though. Can't think of anything. Can't lose control. Had to drift. Drift away into nothing. Into black, empty nothing...

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Pain flaring up again all through his joints. Makes it hard to walk. Pain bad enough, days like these, makes it hard to breathe.

Used to it by now, though. Been having these problems his whole life, seems like.

More than the pain, hates how it makes him remember. 

Children were useless. Fucking burdens. That's what he'd been, to Nappa and Raditz, days like these, and he'd been too weak then, too weak, to push past it.

Remembers constant arguing. Nappa and Raditz, screaming at each other about him. Started giving him most of their food, when they had it, started giving up most of their personal items when they got paid, putting it all into food and medicine for him. A useless, pathetic burden. That's what he'd been. Until he'd gotten older and didn't need that stuff anymore. Didn't need their help. 

Pain flared up like this, some days. Guesses it would never probably go away. 

“You alright little man?” Nappa sits across from him as he lowers himself slow to the grass, teeth grinding together to keep from gasping. Knees hurt real bad. Head starting to pound with a headache. 

Doesn't answer. Big man isn't really there.

Nappa told him he was short because of his mother. Told him she was short too. Knew that was maybe only partly true. 

Had overheard everyone enough times. Nappa and Raditz and the doctors on base. Knew his growth had been stunted. Knew his bones never really grew right. Missed too many meals. Took too many blows while still growing. Fucked him up good. 

Couldn't fix that now. Wouldn't ever be any bigger.

Wishes Nappa would go away. Kept showing up, since Bulma ran from him.

Hated him now. She hated him. Probably gonna tell him to leave, soon. Probably should have left already. 

… Just doesn't know where else to go. 

Wasn't that stupid. Knew why she was so upset. Scared her, telling her the truth. Hadn't wanted to hear it.

Didn't know what else to tell her though. Didn't know what to say.

Said she was pregnant. Said she was going to have a baby. Baby belonged to him. 

Never thought about that ever before. Never thought about finding a mate. About making an heir...

Had been certain he would die, before that could ever happen. Had thought...

Wonders what it means now. An heir.

Doesn't mean anything. No world to rule, no people. Wasn't a prince anymore. No child would ever be king.

No use for children.

Remembers still the thrashing he'd received from Zarbon, failing to wipe out a group of children left over from one of their purges, had instead left them to be rounded up with the other slave labor.

“There's no use for children on base you stupid, idiot monkey!” Can hear Zarbon's voice. Remembers the back of his hand smashing against his mouth. Remembers how it'd sent his head spinning. Everything after that more vague. Remembers couldn't do anything but cover up and hope it would stop soon. Hadn't though. Remembers feeling like Zarbon had beat him for hours. Must have pissed blood for a week after.

Hadn't made that mistake again, leaving children to be rounded up with the other labor. 

Had hated the way they cried. The naked fear in their eyes. Hated the way they clung to their parents, trying pitifully to stay with them. Hated most of all the ones that screamed and fought back.

Made him think... made him remember... didn't want to remember that. Never did.

Doesn't know what to do now. 

Supposed to be wedded to whoever had your child. Been taught that. Was Saiyan tradition. Wasn't.... wasn't supposed to bear children with... with a whore or... or anyone other than your wife. Knew to do so was to bring shame and... and disgrace. 

But Bulma wouldn't be his wife. 

Stupid, absurd notion. Hated him. Rightfully so. Probably wouldn't even want to keep the child now. 

Doesn't know why that thought leaves him with a knot in the pit of his stomach. Doesn't care. Doesn't care about some unborn burdensome nothing. Could do whatever the hell she liked with it. Didn't matter to him. Would be better, anyway. Would be better... if she got rid of it...

“You really think so?” Raditz asks, there beside him suddenly.

Looks away.

Doesn't want to talk to them right now.

What reason was there for her to want him to stay now? Had heard him trying to read. Must have thought he was pathetic. Feels his face heat, thinking of it. Thinking of the pity in her voice, offering him her help. 

Didn't need her help. Didn't need anyone's. Fucking didn't matter if he could read or not. Gotten through his whole life without it. Didn't need it. Didn't matter.

Remembers Nappa used to read to him, sometimes. When he'd been younger. Remembers he'd had this book of Saiyan legends. Had used to read from that to him, sometimes.

Had needed Nappa to go over the more elaborate mission agenda's for him too, remembers, to write the mission logs afterward... Raditz hadn't been able to read very well either. Better than him. But not well enough.

Been embarrassed by that. Unit leader, and he'd needed help figuring out what their tasks even were. Frieza and Zarbon had known he couldn't read. Had used to fill the agendas with fancy words he didn't even recognize. Words they knew he couldn't understand. 

Used to make him stand there, sometimes, told him to read out the tasks. Would laugh as he struggled through it. Laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world.

Bulma hadn't laughed.

Wonders, for an instant, if she could really help. Wonders if she would, still. 

Wonders what it would be like, to just be able to see written words... know what they mean... 

Stupid, though.

Can't stop seeing Bulma's face. Naked fear there, disgust. Been afraid of seeing that. Felt his throat close up at the sight. Felt sick, like he was gonna throw up. 

Caused it himself. Stupid. Stupid.

Wouldn't ever want him now. 

Didn't deserve her anyway. Could have any man she wanted. Would probably go back to that perfect faced fucker. 

Anger building in his chest at the thought. Didn't want her to go back to him. Couldn't... couldn't stand the thought of him touching her now. Couldn't stand it.

“Vegeta?”

Hands tearing at the grass. Didn't even realize. Didn't hear anyone come near.

Looks up.

Bulma's there. Standing a few feet from him. Beautiful. She's so beautiful. Eyes are red. Been crying. Made her cry. Hates himself. Hates himself so much.

Looks away, chest feels tight. Focuses on the pain in his joints. Easier. Easier than the pain in her face.

“Are you alright?” She asks.

Doesn't know why she asks that. It's her... it's her he hurt. Dumb, monkey brute.

Sits down beside him. Nappa and Raditz blink out.

“Is it okay if I sit with you?” She asks.

Doesn't look at her. Shame chokes his voice.

“... Do what you like.” Forces out, keeps his eyes away. 

Can feel her looking at him, doesn't say anything. Silence heavy, oppressive. Never felt this way with anyone before. Never felt so odd. Doesn't know what he was supposed to do. Doesn't know his place...

Feels her hand on his arm suddenly. Starts at it. Stiffens.

“Vegeta...” she says. Sounds scared still. Scared of him, he guesses. Can't blame her. Should be. Should be scared of him. “Can we talk about this?”

Talk about what? Doesn't know. Talk about him leaving, maybe. Nothing to talk about there. Would leave, if she told him to. 

Hopes she doesn't. Hopes she doesn't say that.

Hears her sigh, her hand slipping away. Warmth going away with it.

“You don't have to say anything.” She says. “Vegeta, listen... I'm not gonna lie and tell you what you said earlier didn't bother me. It did. It scared the hell out of me, to be honest, and made me... it made me afraid of you. I can't lie about that.”

Doesn't want to hear this. Doesn't want her to be scared of him. Everyone was always scared of him. Doesn't want her to be...

“But Vegeta, I think... I... I care deeply about you. I think I love you...”

Voice trails off. Head dizzy. Isn't sure what she's saying. Doesn't know what that means. Old man had said she loved him. She was saying it now. Doesn't know what that means. Felt like panic in his chest.

“I know...” she's talking again. “I know things have happened to you Vegeta. Things that you couldn't control. I know... whatever you've done in your past... I know you didn't necessarily have a choice. Not if... not if you wanted to keep living. I'm going to choose to believe that. Alright? I don't think you're a bad man Vegeta.”

Wrong about that. She was wrong. He was bad. He was evil.

Didn't matter why he did what he did. Didn't matter... didn't matter he didn't want to. Didn't matter... Still did it. Knew it was wrong. Did it anyway.

Couldn't sleep nights, sometimes. Couldn't stop thinking about all of them...

“But Vegeta, I can't... I have to know whether or not you're going to hurt this child. I can't... I can't let you stay here if I think you're going to hurt this baby.”

Doesn't want to hurt the baby. Doesn't care about it. Doesn't think about things like that. Killed 'cause he had to. Killed 'cause it was his job. 'Cause he was good at it. Didn't think about killing children. Killed 'em 'cause they were in the way...

“Vegeta, are you going to try and hurt this baby?” She's asking. Voice almost harsh. Unhappy. 

Shakes his head.

Doesn't want to leave. Doesn't care about some baby. Just wants to stay. Wants to stay with her...

“That means no?” She says. “Vegeta, that means no, you won't hurt the baby?”

“I won't hurt it.” He says. Means it. Doesn't understand. She doesn't understand. Doesn't know how to make her. No place for children, where he came from. No place for them. Got in the way.

Wasn't the same here, guesses. Guesses children could be around. Didn't matter so much. Plenty of everything. Wouldn't drain resources. Wouldn't slow things down. No need to get rid of them...

Feels her throw her arms around him. Goes stiff. Didn't expect that. Didn't expect...

Crying again. She's crying. Warm, wet face pressing against his shoulder. Doesn't know what to do. Pain in his joints. Focus on that. Better than hers. Better than her pain. 

“Vegeta, I d-don't... I don't want us to fight about this. Oh God, I don't...” she's stammering, sobbing. Wishes she would stop. Hates this. Doesn't know what to do. “I don't want you to go. I really don't.” 

Almost painful, the relief he feels. Almost too much. Holds himself still. Thinks, absurdly, if he moves, she'll somehow change her mind. 

Somehow, she'll tell him to go.

Only she says nothing. Just sits there quiet with him a long time.

Feels her hand lay on top of his, turns it over, soft, smooth skin against his palm.

Gentle then, careful, as he closes his fingers over, and she squeezes tightly back.


	29. Chapter 29

It's hours later when he finally falls asleep, curled into a tight ball along her bed. 

Bulma sits beside him, watching him, her heart, it feels like, a shattered mess. Gods, she's never felt so depressed in her entire life.

He looks like a little boy, knees curled up against his chest, arms wrapped round them in a defensive shell. In many ways, Bulma is beginning to realize now for the first time, he is. A little boy. That he was never really given the chance to grow up, at the same time never really given the chance to be a child.

She'd asked him questions about his past, and he'd answered. Gods, he'd answered, and she wishes almost more than anything that he hadn't.

She'd known his life had been hard.

She'd had no idea just how truly horrific.

She'd convinced him to come up to her room from the backyard and take a bath with her. He'd been, as he usually was, almost mute, saying so little. But he'd been so pliant under her hands that it had frightened her a little, his head and shoulders slumped down as he'd faced her. She'd washed his hair, and he'd allowed her to move him any way she'd wanted, giving no resistance as she'd turned his head this way and that, or when she'd decided they'd spent enough time in the water, pulling him up out of the tub and out into the main room.

She'd combed his hair for him, and it had been afterward, as they'd sat together on the bed, his back to her as she'd wrapped her arms round him from behind, her chin resting on his shoulder, that she'd started asking questions, and he'd begun to answer in a voice so soft and quiet it had, at moments, been hard to hear him, even sitting so close.

He'd told her about what had been called purges, the term used for readying planets for acquisition under the Planet Trade Organization, Freiza's personal empire.

He'd told her he and his team, the two other Saiyan's that had also come here to Earth, Nappa and Raditz, had been tasked with the job, expected to wipe out any resisting, sentient populace, while maintaining the structural and environmental integrity of the planet, so that Frieza could later barter, trade and sell with interested buyers.

They received payment for performing well, things called credits. If Frieza or any of his close aides were somehow unsatisfied with the Saiyans performance, they wouldn't get paid at all. That, Vegeta told her, happened often and with no real marker for understanding what they'd done wrong. Usually it was nothing more than the whim of Frieza, a malicious joy in depriving them their livelihood. 

He'd spoken of the other two, Nappa and Raditz, with an awful kind of fondness which Bulma had never even considered. He missed them, that much was obvious to her. The more he'd spoken of them, the more she'd begun to realize, as terrible as the two of them had seemed to her, they were, for most of his entire life, Vegeta's only real family, his only real friends. It was weird to think that Raditz, the one who had first come to Earth, Goku's biological brother, was, in a way, more Vegeta's brother than he ever had been Goku's. Vegeta spoke of him as if he were an older sibling. He spoke of Nappa as if he were a father.

At the same time, he'd been more powerful than either of them by the age of six or seven, and had subsequently been put in the position of team leader, in essence becoming responsible for their well being as much as they were his. Bulma couldn't imagine that. Couldn't imagine a child that age having that kind of pressure and expectation put on them, added to the unbearable pressure of just trying to survive.

And that's all it had been. A struggle to survive. If Bulma had known that in a vague, detached way before, she understood it with agonizing clarity now. 

He'd told her about his father.

King Vegeta. Still, he insisted on calling his father King, despite the fact that he'd been dead nearly thirty years.

His obedience to Frieza, he'd explained to her, had initially been a desperate attempt to protect his father from the tyrant. He had believed his father would eventually grow strong enough to rebel against Frieza and come for him. Had believed his father would on that day finally bring him home and together they could restore their kingdom. He'd thought that if he just did as Frieza told him, if he presented himself as a loyal subject, then Frieza would spare his father and his world long enough for his father to build his strength for such a rebellion.

His father, Vegeta had told her, had traded him off to Frieza in an attempt to buy their world and their people time, to forestall Frieza destroying their planet.

It had worked, for a time. At least, that was what Vegeta had been led to believe. But he now thought Frieza had likely killed his father not long after he'd been traded away, and soon after that Frieza had also obliterated their world.

It was his continual obedience after that which Vegeta had confessed to her in a voice hardly a whisper that still shamed him most. 

By the time he had discovered his father was dead and was never coming for him, he'd been so beaten into submission by Frieza, that he knew no other way to be. He'd been scared of him, Vegeta said. Terrified. He'd told her this in a trembling, hardly audible voice. 

How Frieza had achieved that fear in Vegeta was painfully, tragically obvious to her, even as Vegeta himself didn't seem to understand it.

She'd asked him what Frieza had done to him, and for a long time, he hadn't answered. Hadn't said anything for so long, she'd thought he wasn't going to answer at all. But then he did. And the things he'd told her...

Gods, she can't... 

It was so awful. So unspeakably awful...

Starvation apparently had been a favorite tactic of Frieza's. 

Bulma had seen the sort of metabolisms Saiyans had. She'd watched Goku clear entire tables of food all by himself and still continue to be hungry afterward. And though Vegeta's table manners were light years ahead of Goku's, his appetite wasn't far behind.

She can't imagine then the effect it would have had on him to be limited to a single, small meal a day. Not enough food to even come close to satisfying a small human being, let alone a Saiyan who's metabolism was more akin to that of a weasel or a mongoose. 

He'd told her if they could make enough credit's from purges, they were allowed then to purchase food from various venders situated around the base they were stationed at. The food, though, was expensive, and with three Saiyans in their unit, there had never been enough money to provide the ideal amount. Hunger unto starvation was a constant companion. 

That atop daily beatings handed out, either from Frieza, or his top men, or various, high powered soldiers around the base who simply hated Saiyans for what they were. It was Vegeta they targeted most. They knew he was a prince, and that only made him more attractive to their malice. Some beatings, he'd said, had been severe enough to leave him nearly dead. He said that made him stronger, said it was what he had wanted then, but every day... never knowing when or where someone was going to decide to attack him, never being free of that kind of anxiety and worry... 

It was no wonder to Bulma then why Vegeta was so paranoid and anxious. Being in such an uncertain and fearful state, day after day after day... it would leave anybody's nervous system shot. It was a miracle, in truth, that Vegeta was as stable as he was.

There were other things... things he wasn't telling her. Things he'd hinted at but wouldn't elaborate on... Only Bulma could put two and two together easily enough.

She knows he'd been sexually abused in some way. He wouldn't say, wouldn't tell her, had fallen completely silent when she'd tried asking carefully around the subject. She hadn't asked him directly, knowing that would likely upset him, that he might shut down completely if she did. She'd instead tried asking about his experiences with intimacy. His silence spoke volumes then, and she could just tell. Who had done it to him, and to what extent exactly he'd been abused, she couldn't say. Only knows that whatever it was, it had destroyed any normal sense or understanding of physical intimacy for him. He'd been a virgin when they met, and that too was obvious to her why.

And then there were some of the things he'd seen, out on those purge missions. Death and destruction and brutal, violent violation, the frenzied desperation of people who knew they were going to die, or be raped, or enslaved... The way he'd described it... The ugly, stark reality of it... Gods... Gods, he'd told horrors to her which hardly seemed real, which she could hardly even imagine. Didn't want to imagine. 

He lived with those memories. Lived with them every day and night of his life. She doesn't know how. She doesn't know how anyone could deal with that. 

She had had to remove herself afterward to the bathroom, barely making it there in time and closing the door behind her before she'd burst into tears, muffling the sound of her sobs behind palms pressed hard against her mouth. 

She hopes Vegeta hadn't heard her.

When she'd finally composed herself enough to return back to the room, she'd found him like this, curled up and asleep on the bed.

She can't help thinking what a startling contrast it is, the sight of him now juxtaposed against the things he'd just told her.

He seems so small. 

There's an ugliness to that now. To how small he is. Bulma had never considered it before. 

He'd been starved, growing up. Deprived of basic nutrients vital to a child's healthy development, and still developing bones subjected to blunt force trauma, severe beatings almost every day.

He hadn't grown properly. He hadn't been allowed to. There's little doubt in Bulma's mind that that had been deliberate. Given what she knew now about Frieza's hatred of the Saiyans, given Vegeta's prodigious talent and power... 

There wasn't any way that son of a bitch was ever going to allow Vegeta to realize that potential.

His body, she realizes for the first time, beyond the scarring over his skin, was nearly as damaged as his mind.

How he had gotten as far as he had, how he had matched Goku now in strength, if what he said about achieving Super Siayan was true, she doesn't know.

He hadn't shown her yet. Super Saiyan. She watched him train in the gravity chamber at least once a day, hoping to catch a glimpse of it, but she'd never seen him transform. She'd thought about asking him to show her, but she worried too that, if for whatever reason he'd lied about it, she would then be putting him in an embarrassing situation.

She doesn't think he's lying though. He's never lied to her before, about anything.

She moves closer, lowering herself to her knees along the edge of the bed, studying his face.

She'd been so angry at him just a few hours before, horrified and disgusted at what he'd told her he'd done. Had thought, even, that their relationship was over, that she could never understand or forgive him for it.

But her mother had been right.

Vegeta wasn't a monster.

He was a wounded, wrecked child. A displaced child who had fought to survive in a hostile, alien world that worked with all its fathomless resources to make certain he didn't succeed. A young and lost man who fought now to survive within a world he again didn't belong to.

He had no home. Not really. No family. Not for almost the entirety of his life. Bulma can't even begin to imagine the loneliness of that. Of what that must have been like. 

Trying to imagine herself in that position is an impossibility. She'd always had a place she felt welcomed, and safe. Always had a home. Always had people around her who she knew loved her with all their hearts, would do anything to protect her and give her what she needed. Family and friends.

Vegeta had had none of that. Had had only the opposite, in truth.

More than anything, she feels sadness for him. A heartbroken despair.

She can't stay angry with him, even as logically she knows the things he'd done were horrific. 

As great as the suffering was that he had caused through his actions, his own suffering was, in many ways, worse still.

How could she stay angry with him, how could she hate him, when all his life had been such a hell? When it had been the hatred and cruelty of others which had molded him into what he had become?

And still, in all of that, he had somehow found it in himself to treat her with tender gentility, to be soft and kind and quiet around her. To be sincere and trusting. 

She couldn't repay that trust he had put in her with such awful cruelty and betrayal, a trust which, given his life, she understands now to be nothing short of remarkable. 

She reaches out, laying the back of her hand gently against his temple.

Even asleep, he looks so tense, so defensive and fearful of an attack. 

That's what his life had been like, she supposes, under Frieza's rule. Never knowing when his life might come to an end. Expecting the attempt on it every second of every day.

It's late, she realizes, glancing at the bedside clock. Almost 2:30 in the morning. She needed to get some sleep too.

Looking back to Vegeta, she thinks about how she doesn't want to sleep alone tonight. Doesn't want to leave him alone either. And so she decides to risk it, placing her hand on his shoulder and giving him a light shake.

Almost immediately his eyes come open, though his lids are heavy, gaze bleary with sleep. He looks up at her without much focus, and she smiles lightly at him.

“Hey.” She says softly. “Mind if I get in with you?”

He looks at her for a long moment without saying anything, until suddenly he uncurls himself, pushing himself up and scooting to the other side of the bed, giving her space.

She smiles more broadly at him, relieved and happy that he hadn't decided to just up and leave.

“You wanna get under the covers with me?” She asks, pulling the blanket back.

He nods at her after a pause, and after a few clumsy moments they manage to arrange themselves underneath the blankets.

Bulma feels a vague pang of disappointment as he curls up again with his back to her, lying, it seems, at the farthest edge of the mattress. But she could hardly expect anything more at this point. Vegeta liked physical contact. She knew that. He just never quite knew how to initiate it himself. That weird shyness of his again. He was embarrassed, she thinks. 

And so she closes the distance between them, spooning him from behind, her arms wrapping around him.

Predictably she feels him stiffen again, and she leans her face close, pressing her lips to the back of his neck.

“It's okay.” She whispers. “Just relax baby.”

It takes a few, long seconds, but eventually he does, his ridgedlly held frame softening under her hold.

It isn't long after that Bulma feels his breaths steady and even, and it's with the knowledge that he's again found some peace in sleep that she too, at last, drifts off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always thank you so much for all your support guys! I hope you continue to enjoy!


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait on this chapter guys, I've just been really busy lately and haven't had much of a chance to work on my story here. But don't worry, it's far from over and not abandoned! Here's the next chapter, I hope you enjoy and hopefully it won't be as long a wait for the next!

He can't bear it. Can't. Can't! How can he... Gods, Gods almighty how can he stand here and do nothing, nothing. How can he and still call himself a warrior of the Saiyan race?

His prince, his charge, his... He was like a son to him, now. Vegeta was like his son. 

And Frieza was going to kill him. 

The boy had done nothing. For Gods sake, he'd done nothing. The fuck up had been his, and Raditz. They'd been the one's who'd lost control, who'd transformed to their Oozaru form and annihilated the surrounding environment. Vegeta hadn't been anywhere near the scene, having his hands full with a force of insurgents on the other side of the planet. By the time he'd arrived back to them, the damage had already been done.

Nappa can't get the look of absolute terror which had passed over the boy's face at seeing the damage they'd caused out of his head.

He'd known, in that moment, he'd known better than him or Raditz who would be taking the blame for their failure.

And he'd been right.

Raditz kneels beside him now, trembling with nearly uncontrolled rage and fear, his face bowed to the floor, listening to Vegeta's desperate, panicked gasps, not having the courage to look.

Only Nappa can't look away.

Frieza had ordered them to stay and watch this time. To see, he said, the consequences of their failure.

Oh, a thousand times... a thousand times Nappa would have taken Vegeta's place if he could.

But he could only watch as Frieza had made him strip to nothing but his underclothes, and beaten the boy to within an inch of his life.

That, Nappa had thought, would be the end of it. But it wasn't. Gods, mercy, it wasn't.

Vegeta had been unable to stand, but that had done nothing to dissuade Frieza from demanding that the boy do so anyway. When he had failed to comply sufficiently, and Nappa had at last had to look away at the pitiful, sickening sight of Vegeta trying desperately to do as he had been ordered, struggling and flailing weakly simply to make it to his hands and knees, Frieza had erupted in somehow further rage, burying his hand in the boys hair and dragging him across the floor, towards a vat of water which had been situated there since they'd entered the room. 

Nappa had known with horrifying certainty what that vat was for, before all of it. He knew also Frieza's rage was calculated. The bastard had known Vegeta couldn't stand. It was an excuse to torture the boy further.

He was drowning him.

Holding his head beneath the water for longer and longer intervals, Vegeta's struggles growing weaker each moment. 

His frantic gasps for air and violent choking when Frieza pulled him up from the water was unbearable.

His undergarments were soaked from his useless struggles, the material clinging to the boy's small, frail frame, only making more obvious his emaciation. The sight of it... the sight of Frieza's hands fisting in Vegeta's hair, pressing to the back of his neck, holding him under, Vegeta seeming so horribly, horribly small and weak by comparison...

He can't take it. He can't. He's gonna lose it, Nappa thinks. He's gonna go crazy and... and...

But what the fuck can he do?! 

Frieza could kill him before he even got halfway across the space to intervene. And then, his attempt might only anger the bastard further. He might kill Vegeta then. He might...

He might kill Vegeta now. 

That's what it looked like. That's what it seemed he wanted. 

The boy can't breathe, his struggles for air growing more and more pathetic, more ineffective with each new attempt.

He's going to die, if this keeps up. He's going to this time. 

He can't let that happen, Nappa thinks. He's meant to protect Vegeta. He's meant to serve as the boy's guardian. That was the task King Vegeta had charged him with. That was his sacred duty. And he was failing at it. He was failing utterly.

“I can't watch this!” Raditz hisses beside him, and suddenly the young Saiyan is beginning to stand, beginning to move forward.

Nappa reaches out and grabs him, pulling him forcibly back down.

“No!” He growls low in his throat. “We can't.”

“He's going to kill him!” Raditz cries, and his eyes fill suddenly with tears, streaming quick down his face. 

Nappa can't take it. Can't stand the sight of it. Vegeta was like a little brother to Raditz now. That's how the older boy saw him, he knew.

His own eyes sting as he watches once more Vegeta's now limp body being forced under and pulled back up again, the boy no longer able to fight, hanging motionless in Frieza's hands, his eyes half-lidded with exhaustion and resignation, mouth hung open, moving like he's trying to speak, but he can't. A moment later he throws up the water trapped in his lungs, coughing violently, frame shuttering helplessly. A thick string of saliva hangs off his lower lip, tinged red with blood, and he falls still again.

This can't go on.

Nappa stands, heart pounding sickeningly behind his ribs.

He has to try. He has to.

“L-Lord Frieza...” He calls.

He feels a wave of nearly nauseating trepidation as the bastard turns to look at him, Vegeta hanging from his hold like a drowned rat. 

He swallows down his fear and goes on.

“Lord Frieza, please. Please, I beg of you... that's enough. The boy's learned his lesson. He won't... he won't make the same mistake again.”

The words taste like bile on his tongue, his pride screaming in protest at the unequivocal bullshit he's just spewed. As if Vegeta had made any mistake at all. As if he actually deserved this. But he couldn't think of what else to do. He couldn't stop Frieza physically. Would likely only make it worse if he tried.

The tyrant's red, pinpoint eyes on him are difficult to hold, and Nappa feels his pride wither only more at the tangible fear he feels. It's pathetic, to be so frightened of such a coward. And that's what Frieza is, Nappa thinks. A damned, disgusting coward, torturing a young boy who could never hope to fight back.

He wants to kill him. Gods, Nappa has never wanted to kill anyone so much in his life.

“I'm sorry.” Frieza abruptly starts. “Did you actually speak monkey?”

It's all Nappa can manage to hold his ground, and he nods weakly, his tail betraying his fear as it puffs around his waist.

He notices Vegeta's tail then, limp and soaking wet as it drags on the floor behind him. The boy isn't even really conscious anymore, his head hanging down, arms limp at his sides.

“Please Lord Frieza, he... he can't take much more. I don't think. Please, I'm begging you, let him go.” Nappa has no idea how Frieza is going to react to his begging. If there was one thing he'd come to learn about the son of a bitch in the eight years he'd been directly under his rule, it was that he was unpredictable. Simply being in his presence was an experience of horrible anxiety. 

It was Vegeta who most often was summoned here to Frieza's quarters, who was made to hold private audience with him. Nappa knows Frieza had done terrible things to the boy in those meetings. Like now. 

Each one Vegeta came back from, he was a little more withdrawn, a little more quiet. A little more broken...

He hardly resembled the boy he had once been now, when he still was with his father back on Vegetasei. 

Frieza regards Nappa now with an unreadable expression, eyes cold and emotionless, before suddenly he breaks out in that high pitched laughter of his.

“You... want me to let the boy go?” He says, plainly amused, and Nappa feels his heart sink with still worse fear. His eyes flit to Vegeta, hanging limp and wrecked.

He forces himself to nod, lifting his eyes back up to the tyrant.

“Y-yes Lord Frieza, please. If... if you would grant my request, I hu... humbly ask you, please.”

“Oh, ho ho!” Frieza laughs again. “You humbly ask! I didn't know Saiyan filth was capable of humility at all!”

Nappa teeth grind together, anger like fire in his chest. He hears Raditz shift behind him, doubtless the same fury consuming him.

Listening to Frieza constantly degrade their people like this... it was nearly unbearable. Each time the depraved fuck opened his mouth, Nappa found himself barely able to hold himself in check, only his concern for Vegeta and Raditz holding him back. Like now...

He simply bows his head then, trying to show submission.

Gods, it's almost impossible. He wants with blinding fury to tear the son of a bitch limb from limb.

For long seconds, Frieza says nothing, and Nappa can feels his eyes on him, his skin chilling with the knowledge.

There weren't many who Nappa was truly afraid of. Frieza was maybe the only one.

Blood rushes in his ears, fear like a vice round his heart as he waits for an answer. If Frieza didn't let Vegeta go, then...

“Well, perhaps you're right.” Frieza says, voice light, almost friendly. Nappa looks up at him, shock running through him. He hadn't... he can't believe...

“Vegeta I think has learned his lesson. Haven't you Vegeta?” Frieza has hold of him still by the hair, lifting him up. Nappa can see the boy's face twist in pain, only he's still too dazed to give answer. Frieza smirks down at him, a twisted expression, before looking back to Nappa. “I'll let him go for now.” 

Nappa nearly collapses in relief, astonished and overcome. He hadn't expected it to work. Not really. Nothing ever truly seemed to.

“Th-thank you Lord Frieza!” He drops to his knees, prostrating himself. “Thank you!”

“However,”

The word is like a shock of sudden freezing water over his head. With it his hope deflates into nothing. Like choking...

“Before I allow it, Vegeta first has to make it back to you. Yes? As evidence of his understanding as to his own mistakes.”

Nappa doesn't understand. His heart twists in sickening dread.

“M-my Lord? I'm sorry, I don't...”

“If the boy can walk the distance to you from me, then I'll allow him to go with you back to your grubby little hole. If not, well...” Frieza laughs low, the sound cruel and filled with threat.

He throws Vegeta down then, the boy crumpling to his face and stomach, unmoving. 

He's barely breathing, the rise and fall of his breath shallow and slow.

He won't be able to make it, Nappa thinks with horror. He won't.

“Well go on child.” Frieza kicks him over onto his back. “Go to your guard dog.”

Vegeta isn't even aware of what's being said to him, Nappa doesn't think, the boy's eyes still half lidded and glazed, staring blankly up past the tyrant.

“Oh, perhaps he doesn't wish it!” Frieza laughs, digging his toes into Vegeta's side, giving him a vicious shove.

Panic explodes in Nappa's chest.

“Vegeta! Vegeta, please, get up. Come on little man. Get up and walk to me.” He entreats desperately.

“Oh how sweet!” Frieza laughs, eyes fixed on the boy, malicious pleasure shining bright in them. “Little man, is that what you call him? Such an apt description.”

Nappa ignores him, eyes trained on the boy, heart pounding sick in his chest. 

“Vegeta, c-come on man, please get up!” Raditz begs behind him.

At last Vegeta seems to respond, his head lifting barely.

“Come on Vegeta...” Nappa again tries, hoping, somehow, the boy will recognize his voice, that it will somehow give him the strength he needs. “Come on kiddo.”

“Your dog is calling you Vegeta.” Frieza again laughs, giving the boy another, rough shove. “I suggest you take heed and go to him, or things are going to get decidedly more unpleasant for you.”

Watching Vegeta struggle then to his hands and knees is terrible, only more so as he attempts to make it to his feet, faltering and crumbling back to his knees a moment later.

He's dizzy, Nappa can tell. Probably another concussion. Gods, it was the last thing the boy needed. And the way he's breathing... Nappa can tell too his ribs have been broken. He isn't getting enough air, doesn't have the strength to pull what he needs into his lungs now.

It's maybe only eight, nine meters between them, but with the condition the boy is in... Nappa doesn't think... he doesn't think he can make it.

God damn it, damn it!

He stands, fists clenching at his sides.

“Vegeta, get up boy! Get the fuck up and get over here! Now, fucking NOW!” 

Frieza keeps laughing, his black lips twisted in a sick smile, and Nappa ignores him, eyes fixed on his charge. On his prince. 

Vegeta tries. He shakes viciously as he does, pushing himself to his feet once more. Manages to take a step, then another before he falls again. His eyes are swollen, getting worse, mouth and nose smeared in his own blood.

Nappa's eyes sting, his teeth gritting, nails biting into the palms of his hands, hard enough to make them bleed.

It's the only way, he thinks. The only way to make Vegeta push himself. He hates it. Gods, he hates it so much, but he doesn't know what else to do.

“Get up boy! Get the fuck up! Where's your pride, you tiny little shit!? What... what the fuck would your father think of you, seeing you like this!? Can't even make it a few lousy steps. What kinda prince are you if you can't... can't even do that!”

Again Vegeta rises, makes it three steps this time before he crumples. He's shaking worse, breathing weaker, more shallow. He's fading. But they can't... they can't leave him here. They can't let Frieza have him again.

It's just a small ways, gods, just a small ways more. If he can just get up again.

But it's torture alone as Nappa has to watch the boy rise and fall again and again, each effort harder fought, more painful and desperate.

Halfway there the boy crumples again, his breathes loud and wheezing, his tiny frame shaking uncontrollably. He sinks down, his forehead nearly against the floor.

“Move Vegeta! Move your ass!” Nappa cries out to him again, terror constricting his throat. 

But the boy doesn't rise this time. He can't. He can't. Too exhausted, too hurt. 

Nappa feels his own strength give way, sinking down to his knees as Frieza moves evenly across the space, closing the pitiful distance Vegeta had managed to put between them. The boy doesn't even react as the son of a bitch puts his hand on his shoulder, squeezing hard.

“Poor monkey.” Frieza says, false sympathy dripping from his tone. “You tried your best. Sadly, as usual, your best just simply wasn't enough.”

He couldn't help him. He couldn't... he couldn't do anything. What fucking use was he to his prince if he couldn't protect him from anything!?

“Now, you're dismissed.” Frieza goes on, his deceptively small hand sliding up Vegeta's shoulder, grasping loosely at the back of his neck. A threatening gesture. Nappa knows he could snap the prince's neck in one swift move. Vegeta wouldn't even know what hit him. Nappa tries to ignore the voice in his head which tells him maybe it would be better that way. 

“The boy stays with me.” Frieza keeps talking. “I think, regrettably, further instruction is required.”

Nappa and Raditz sit staring, dumbfounded and helpless, a sick knot of dread and agonizing frustration twisting Nappa's guts. His eyes stay fixed on the boy, Vegeta's head sagging forward, expression distant and detached. Nappa isn't even sure he knows what's happening now. The thought of it... of leaving him here alone with this wretched monster like that... not knowing what Frieza will do, knowing only it will lead to still further devastation... he can barely stand it. His eyes sting with his own uselessness.

Only he knows there's nothing. Nothing any of them can do. Knows he would only hasten Vegeta's death and their own, were he to actually try.

What a cruel, perverted universe it was, he thinks, what cruel gods there must be, to let this happen. To let this happen to a child...

“You stupid, idiot animals!” Frieza's voice snaps out, vicious and filled with hate. “I told you to get out of my sight! Your prince failed, as he always does! Get out! Do so now, or I'll crush the little fuck's neck in my bare hand!”

Nappa and Raditz know better then to argue, giving weak nods of submission, crossing their fists over their hearts in a twisted mockery of salute to their king. A salute which should rightfully now belong to Vegeta...

They leave him then. They abandon their prince. Abandon him to whatever Frieza will do.

He had to keep him alive, Nappa thinks as he walks stiffly from the room. He had to keep Vegeta alive, no matter the cost.

No matter what Frieza would do...

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Doesn't understand why he'd told her those things. Doesn't understand why. Never talked about it before with anyone. Never told anyone, never said... 

Wishes he hadn't, now. Wishes he hadn't said anything. Didn't want her pity. Didn't want her to look at him the way she did now, sometimes. 

Hadn't been able to look her in the face when he'd told her. Couldn't bear to see her face then. Could hear in her voice her pity. Kept thinking he should stop, then. Kept telling himself to shut up, shut up, shut up! Couldn't though, for some reason. Kept answering her questions, kept telling the truth. Didn't want to lie to her.

Doesn't know why.

“'Cause you like her little man.” Nappa says.

Vegeta sneers, turning away. Doesn't want to talk to Nappa now. Doesn't want to see him. 

“And 'cause you're sensitive, just like I always said.” He goes on.

Feels his face heat with embarrassment, anger boiling in his chest.

“Shut the fuck up!” He barks. 

Wasn't sensitive. Didn't care, didn't feel anything. Learned a long time ago not to feel anything. Only way to survive, only way to make it. Couldn't afford to feel anything. Couldn't afford to get attached...

“Face it Veggie, you're smitten.” Raditz says at his side.

Turns away, throat tight, angry. Hates this. Hates himself. Doesn't know what it is. Doesn't know why he says the things he does to Bulma. Doesn't know why he feels like... feels like it's alright, to say things to her he never said to anyone else. 

Doesn't laugh. She doesn't laugh at him. Maybe that's why. Doesn't look at him like he's pathetic, even though she looks at him with sad eyes. Different. That's different. Not the same as how Frieza and Zarbon and Dadoria used to look at him, or Ginyu and his gang. Used to look at him like he was a joke. 

Guesses he was, to them.

Wishes they could see him now. Would show them. Would show them who the fucking joke was now.

Had to get through this first though. Was hard. Was really hard.

Bulma had given him these books. Called them study books. Had exercises in them, supposed to help him learn to read and write. Was hard though. Shouldn't be so hard, he thinks. Wasn't so stupid he couldn't see the exercises were simple. Something any child should be able to do. But he was struggling through them, barely able to comprehend its prompts and directions. Was stupid, how stressed out he was feeling over it. Almost afraid when he would give them to Bulma to check over. Got that sick, nauseous feeling in the pit of his stomach, same as he used to get giving mission reports to Frieza...

Thought she was going to laugh. Or otherwise... was going to grow disgusted at his stupidity and tell him finally to go away. 

Never did though. Never even showed impatience over how he kept making the same mistakes. Just kept correcting him and trying to show him what he did wrong, how to fix it. 

Doesn't know how she could stand it. Doesn't know why she even wants him around still.

“Cause she likes you too little man.” Nappa again.

“Pfft.” Vegeta looks away, glaring at the wall. Fucking ridiculous how he got embarrassed over something said by a figment of his imagination.

Anyway, couldn't see how that could be true. Couldn't see how Bulma could really... like him.

Knew he wasn't likeable. Knew he was always angry. Knew he was rude, and coarse. Didn't have any manners.

Remembers Father had had manners. Remembers Father telling him that it was important, that he separate himself from the commoners by displaying a better class. Remembers Father scolding him when he acted too much like an animal... too much like a monkey. Told him there was an expectation that he live up to his station.

Used to bother him, sometimes, knowing how ashamed Father would be to see how he had ended up.

Tries not to think about it now though. No point. Couldn't change anyhow.

Doesn't know why Bulma seems to have accepted that. The way he is. Doesn't try to make him act some other way. It's embarrassing for her. Knows that. If he could be some other way... 

But he can't, and anyway, he didn't owe it to anyone to be other than what he was. Never... he never said he was anything else. If anyone had a problem with that then... then it was their fucking problem.

“Hey Vegeta.”

She's here again, he thinks. Looks up and there she is, standing in the doorway. Got that soft smile on her face that he liked so much.

Nods at her, and she comes into the room, lowering herself onto the floor in front of him.

“How are your exercises going?”

Shrugs, looks away. Not going well, he thinks, but she probably already knows that. 

“Can I take a look?” 

Hands her the book, doesn't look at her still. Can feel shame heating his face and hates this. Hates that he feels this way around her. Like is actually matters what she thinks of him.

Been a few weeks since she told him she had a baby growing inside her. Wonders how long it takes before it becomes obvious. Wonders how long before she gives birth. 

Hopes she doesn't expect him to give a damn. Doesn't know what he would do anyway, with a baby.

“Hmm.” Hears her hum, looks at her. Feels his heart beating too hard, watches her face, afraid of what he'll see. Afraid instead of warm acceptance he'll see her mouth split into an astonished grin, hear her voice pitched high in laughter at his pathetic stupidity.

Only instead she quietly marks something down on the page with a pencil, then turns the book back towards him.

“Can we work on sounding out this sentence together?” She asks, pointing to a line of writing.

Glances at where she's pointing, sees his own, childish scrawl, feels his face heat more. Nods stiffly.

“Okay.” She smiles softly at him. “Don't be embarrassed Vegeta. You're doing very well.”

He almost snaps at her, almost tells her to stop lying to him, only just manages to swallow the words down and give another, weak nod.

“So I know what you're trying to say here. You've gotten a lot of it right. Can you read it back for me and then I'll help you see which parts are wrong?”

Skin burning harder, feels like he's gonna be sick with how embarrassed he is. Glances at his shitty handwriting again, stammers and mutters out what it's supposed to say.

“I have a home s-somewhere far aw... away.” 

Sees something like that sad look she sometimes gives him pass over her face, looks away. Knows he fucked it up. Knows it doesn't actually come close to saying what he meant it to say.

Starts to talk, her soft voice pointing out gently the mistakes he's made. Getting into what he's learned are called phonic breakdowns, going through the words and the vocal sound they produce, section by section. It's tedious, makes him feel even dumber, seeing in how many places he's used too many letters, or not enough, or just the wrong letters entirely.

Thinks he'll probably never get good at this.

Tries to listen, tries to learn. Doesn't understand how Bulma can be so patient. Must be so rudimentary to her, so pathetically simple. Knows she's smart. Smarter than anyone he's ever known. Guesses she's got something called a doctorate, or a lot of them, which means she's considered an elite expert in whatever field she's got them in. Must think he's a total moron. Even though she says the exact opposite. Says she thinks he's really smart. Can't even tell if she's lying. Sounds like she means it.

“Hey Vegeta,” Looks up. She's looking at him, reaches out, takes hold of his hand in hers, squeezes. “it's alright.” 

“... Yeah.” He says back. Doesn't know what else to say. Might even believe it, sometimes, the way she says it. Might even believe it's alright, when she's there with him.


	31. Chapter 31

It's the middle of the night when her water breaks.

Vegeta is asleep beside her and Bulma can feel nothing but panic.

He wasn't ready for this.

Fuck, she wasn't ready for this.

She'd been in denial, in a way, as the months had proceeded by, and Vegeta hadn't shown any discernable shift in attitude towards her pregnancy, towards the prospect of her having his child. In truth, he hadn't shown any sort of attitude at all. It was like he didn't even know she was pregnant, didn't understand at all what that really meant.

And for it, Bulma had almost convinced herself that her pregnancy wasn't real, or, at least, that her condition of being pregnant would somehow go on indefinitely. That she would never have to actually face the reality of giving birth, of having a child that she would be responsible for, that she herself would have to raise. 

She'd realized as her pregnancy had advanced, as she'd begun to show more and more, and Vegeta had shown absolutely no interest, no curiosity, hadn't once asked how she was feeling, hadn't once asked how long it would be before she gave birth, hadn't once asked a single question about any of it at all, that she really was going to be on her own in this. She hadn't understood before that, when the realization had finally hit her, how much she had been holding out hope that he would somehow in the intervening months warm to the idea of starting a family with her. That he would somehow become an interested and involved parent. 

It had been stupid of her. Naive. That wasn't who Vegeta was. It was so easy to forget sometimes, with how gentle he was with her. It was easy to forget that for most of his life he'd been a cold hearted and merciless killer. He didn't understand what it meant to be a parent. Didn't understand, she doesn't think, what a parent even really was. How she could have convinced herself that someone as damaged as he was, someone who came from such a broken and horror filled background as him could ever be a real father, she doesn't know.

And now the reality was hitting her in the face like a ton of bricks. The baby was coming, and Vegeta wasn't going to help her. He couldn't. Not really. It wasn't even really fair of her to expect that of him. He was, in so many ways, still like a child himself.

He'd made decent advancements in his reading and writing over the last few months, but he was still woefully behind where a man his age should be, still struggling painfully with simple sentences and spelling. It was going to be a long while yet before he really got anywhere with it. It didn't help, of course, that he was more interested in training all day long than in practicing with the study books and lessons she'd drawn up for him. She understood that it was frustrating for him, and humiliating, having to sit there and listen to her correct his numerous mistakes. She felt awful for him sometimes. His penmanship alone was atrocious, about on par with that of a four year old child, and at times difficult to read. It was never her intention to embarrass him, but she understood also that she wasn't going to help him by lying to him about it.

It was tough. It was tough being with Vegeta. Bulma couldn't deny that. Couldn't deny that there'd been more than a few restless, even tear filled nights in the months since she'd gotten pregnant, both out of the sadness she often found herself overwhelmed by for him, and for the desperate, at times frantic fear she felt that things between them just weren't going to work out, that she'd been insane to ever think they could, to ever think being with him like this was a good idea. 

She grew loathsome of herself when thoughts like that would float through her mind. Like her heart was being compressed when she would think such things, and then she would see him, and he would look at her with so much god damned trust and hope, and it made her sick to her stomach, that she had thought such things, that she had thought, more than once, about leaving him. 

It was just, he was such a horrible mess. He was violent and unstable, and that was plain to Bulma every day. And as the date of her delivery drew nearer, that instability and unpredictability in him, that scariness, made her more and more uneasy at the prospect of bringing a child up around him. She realized more and more that she had no idea at all how he would be around a child, how he would respond to a screaming baby, how he would treat an infant, or a toddler. He'd told her at her prompting that he wouldn't hurt it, and she wanted to believe him. But she couldn't erase from her mind either the truth he'd revealed to her, that he'd killed children in the past. She understood of course that, for his own survival, he hadn't really had a choice. That if he'd wanted to keep on living, he had to do the things he did. But she also understood that for whatever reason, still, he had in him the capability of killing a child. He had in him the capability of ending an innocent being's life. That scared her. It scared her to death. 

And then there was the coming threat of the androids. That was something Bulma had done an excellent job of ignoring these last, several months. But as the birth date had drawn closer, she'd begun to grow more and more aware of their time running out. They had less than a year now before the androids were meant to appear. Beings who supposedly were far more powerful than even Frieza had been. The thought alone caused Bulma's mouth to go dry in fear. And she had little idea of how Vegeta felt about any of it, as he rarely spoke to her of it. All he ever said on the subject was that he was going to take care of it. That he would be the one to defeat the androids, not “Kakarott”, as he called Goku. He seemed obsessed to the point of sickness with being better than Goku. Of being stronger, of being a more capable warrior, a greater fighter. Bulma tried to be as encouraging towards him as she could. Tried to support him. But she worried too for his well being. He pushed himself so hard. She'd never seen Goku train as hard as Vegeta did. He was like a madman, pushing himself to such physical extremes that she sincerely feared he may one day kill himself. It broke her heart. Seemed so unfair to her, in a way. Goku trained hard. Of course he did. Dedicated himself completely. But everything seemed to come so easily to him too. He got boundlessly stronger it seemed with just a little more effort, made huge, almost measureless strides with each endeavor. 

Vegeta, meanwhile, struggled and scraped for even the smallest inch, pushed himself to the point of breaking, to the point of near death, to achieve even a fraction of what Goku did. 

Bulma didn't have the heart to tell Vegeta that Goku may have just been more talented than he was. Vegeta was more disciplined, had, even, finer form and control, was maybe even lighter on his feet than Goku, which made sense, given he was roughly half Goku's size. But Goku simply had more power, had a greater ki, was quicker and stronger and just able to do things physically that Vegeta couldn't. Even now, even having achieved Super Saiyan (and Bulma had been in awe at the sight of it, when he'd finally allowed her to see the transformation), she knew Goku would push past the limits of that transformation and become stronger still, as he always did when he set his mind to it. 

Vegeta had given everything he had simply to catch up, and Goku, without even really realizing it or even really trying, would again outpace him. Bulma didn't want to think about what that would do to Vegeta's self-esteem when he did. He was already so damned hard on himself.

For that reason alone, Bulma hoped that Vegeta was right and that he would be the one to defeat the androids. If not, she had little doubt he would spiral into a state of awful depression, which was something she'd started to learn he was heartbreakingly prone towards.

She has no time to think of any of that now though. She can feel her heart hammering behind her ribs as she throws the covers from her and sees the sheets beneath soaked through, her nightgown similarly drenched, and she knows she has to get to Mom and Dad's room and tell them what's going on.

Glancing at Vegeta still asleep beside her, she wonders briefly if she should even wake him, only the thought is quickly discarded. Whatever his reaction might be, he was the father, and he had to know.

She reaches out then, hand trembling with the pain of sudden powerful contractions, laying her fingers against his bare shoulder.

“Vegeta...” She calls. She grits her teeth against the pain, leaning closer when he doesn't respond. “Vegeta,” she calls more loudly.

Finally he stirs, his eyes coming open, bleary with sleep and exhaustion as they move to her.

“Vegeta, my water broke.” She tells him, and it takes her only a moment to realize he doesn't understand what that means as he continues to look up at her with a blank expression. “The baby's coming.” She further explains, and he blinks.

“... Alright.” He tells her, and he still doesn't sound like he really understands what she means.

Her patience is running thin suddenly, the pain of the contractions distracting her now.

“I need to go to the hospital.” She says before turning from him and rolling from the bed. “You can come if you want. Or not. I'm going to get Mom and Dad.”

She hears him shift behind her, sitting up.

“You can't give birth here?” He asks, and she stops, mildly surprised that he'd asked her anything about it at all.

“It's not what's done here on Earth anymore.” She answers after a moment, turning to look back at him. “It's safer in a hospital.”

He's looking back at her with that confused, lost look he always got when faced with unfamiliar customs. It happened with him a lot, which she understood. He was an alien, after all. Had come from a completely different world...

“Do you want to come?” She asks again. “It could be a long time before the baby comes.”

She really is shocked this time when he nods at her, and she watches as he pulls the covers back and gets up, coming towards her.

“You're sure?” She asks one more time. “Hospitals can be pretty stressful places. I don't want you to get upset.”

“I'll go with you.” He says, and Bulma thinks she doesn't want to ruin her unexpected good fortune by nagging him about it. 

“Alright.” She accepts. “I'm gonna go get my parents and then we'll go. Listen, can you grab me something else to wear? My clothes are soaked through.”

Maybe she's expecting too much from him to ask that he pick her out something to wear, but hell, he's surprised her once already. 

“Alright.” He says, and she watches as he turns towards her closet, baffled that he agreed so readily.

Well, there was no point in questioning it. She has to go get Mom and Dad and get to the hospital. And try not to think about what the future will hold.

//

Vegeta isn't here.

Why isn't he here?!

She keeps screaming at her mother that same question, and her mother keeps saying some bullshit about how Vegeta didn't want to come into the delivery room. That he'd said some crap about it not being appropriate for men to be involved in all that.

She doesn't care what the fuck he thought was appropriate or not. She wants him here. She wants him here with her right now.

The pain is unreal. She swears to god, she doesn't know if she can make it through this.

“Fuck! Mom, g-get him! I need him here right n-now!” She cries, the voice of her doctor droning on in the background, telling her to push. 

She's been in labor for six fucking hours already, she doesn't think she can make it.

Her mother scurries away, her father standing at the back of the room, biting his nails and looking traumatized. He should be in her position, Bulma thinks. Then he'd know what being traumatized really meant.

“You're almost there Bulma. Just a few more hard pushes.” Her doctor tells her.

Hot tears stream down his face, soaking into her already drenched hair.

“You've been s-saying that for the last FUCKING hour!” She screams at him, twisting the bed's sheets between her fingers.

“I know Bulma. But I mean it now. Just a few more pushes and you'll be there. Give it all you've got.”

She doesn't understand how her doctor can be so fucking calm right now.

She's been giving it all she's got all god damned night!

Her teeth grit together, eyes clamping shut as she gives another, hard push, her voice slipping past her compressed lips in a thin whine.

Not for the first time, she wishes she hadn't forgotten to take her damned birth control that night.

Her mother comes back, no Vegeta in tow, a worried expression lining her Mom's face.

“Where is he?!” Bulma demands, a sudden, vicious anger erupting in her chest. Vegeta, you fucking coward, she thinks.

“He refuses to come darling.” She tells him, reaching out and taking her hand. “I'm sorry. I think he's worried.”

“If he was worried he would BE HERE!” Bulma screams. “He couldn't give a shit less!”

“Honey, you know that's not true. He came to the hospital with you.”

“He doesn't give a sh-shit!” Bulma insists. “He n-never even asked... asked how I was ff-feeling!”

She's embarrassing herself, Bulma thinks, her tears clouding her vision now, streaming fast, but she can hardly get it up to care. She's upset. Justifiably so, she thinks. Why the hell did Vegeta even offer to come if he wasn't going to be there to support her, to at least hold her hand, like her mother was doing now?

“Oh sweetie, I know. I know you're hurting.” Her mother consoles her as if reading her thoughts, squeezing her hand tight. “Just give him some time Bulma. I'm certain he cares. He just doesn't know how to show it.”

Bulma really isn't interested in hearing her mother's platitudes, she thinks, bearing down again as the doctor's again promises she's almost there.

“The baby's crowning.” The doctor announces. “Another hard push Bulma. Just one more. Give it all you've got.”

She does. She gives it everything, wanting in that moment for nothing more then to have the baby out of her.

Still, it's a shock when she hears suddenly and loudly a long, angry wail filling the space.

“Oh Bulma!” Her mother beside her lets go of her hand, and Bulma's eyes come open, staring in stunned amazement at the struggling bundle held in the doctor's hands, a shock of thick, purple hair covering the baby's head, clearly visible soaked though it is.

The doctor smiles at her, handing the baby off to a nearby nurse.

“It's a boy Bulma!” He says. “A healthy baby boy!”

//

It's early, he thinks.

Sun's just starting to come up. Quiet around here now. Wasn't that way before. People running back and forth, making him crazy, making him feel like he was gonna lose it. Had to find somewhere quieter. Didn't wanna kill anybody. Would of made Bulma mad, if he'd killed somebody.

Bulma's mother had kept coming up to him, kept telling him Bulma wanted him there, wanted him to see the birth.

Didn't want that. Didn't want to be there, with her parent's, and the physicians. Didn't want to see Bulma in pain...

Probably mad at him now. Bulma was probably mad. 

Doesn't matter. Wouldn't of been any good with him there anyhow. Wouldn't have been able to do anything. Doesn't know anything about babies.

Doesn't know what to think now. 

Bulma's parents had left. Went back to Capsule Corp, to get some sleep and supplies, they said. Asked him if he would stay with Bulma. Said yes. Doesn't know what to think, looking down at her asleep.

Looking down at the baby, sleeping in her arms. 

It's his, he guesses.

It's his baby.

Weird feeling. Doesn't know what it is. 

Never thought... Never thought he would live long enough to have a baby. Never thought of it as a possibility.

Never thought any of this was possible.

A boy, he guesses. That's what Bulma's mother had told him. Was a boy.

A Saiyan. Half-Saiyan. Shouldn't of done that, probably. Shouldn't have made a half-breed with her. Nappa always used to tell him not to make any half-breed babies.

Wonders where Nappa is now. Wonders where Raditz is. Hadn't shown up, since Bulma woke him last night. 

Weird feeling. 

Reaches out, stops. Afraid. Afraid to touch her.

Looks at the baby. 

It's so small. Can't believe how small it is.

Looks at his hands.

Big, ugly hands. Could crush the baby in a single one, he thinks. Crush it's whole body.

Thought of it makes him feel dizzy, sick to his stomach.

Turns away, walks to the other side of the room. Buries his face in his ugly hands, fingers digging into his hair, tearing at it.

Gotta breathe, calm down. Gotta calm down.

Wasn't... wasn't a battle field. Wasn't that. Had to remember. Wasn't Planet 79. Wasn't a purge...

Images running through his head. Bright as if they were really there. Bright as the moment they happened. Sick. Gonna be sick. 

Breathe... Breathe... calm down. Wasn't there. He wasn't there anymore. Bulma wasn't... and the boy... the boy wasn't... didn't need to be... desposed of. Didn't need to be. 

His child...

Doesn't make sense. Doesn't really understand.

What for, even? No Kingdom to rule anymore. Never really had it... not since too long ago to remember. No need for an heir then. Wouldn't inherit anything from him. The boy. Wouldn't become a prince, as he had been... once.

Stupid then. Doesn't understand this feeling. Chest tight, something like panic choking him, thinking about... about the boy... about what happened to children... on base, on... 

Doesn't want that, thinks suddenly, frantic, like drowning. Feels like drowning. Doesn't want the child to be killed. Doesn't want...

Edges going dark again, red haze, fingers grip harder in his hair, digging into his scalp. Gotta get out, thinks then. Gotta get outta here.

Blinks. Window. There's a window. Can go through that.

Throws it open, cool night air blasts him in the face. Steps up on the sill, stops.

Looks back at her. At the boy. Sleeping. Don't even know he's there. Doesn't matter. Don't need him. Don't need him.

Better off without him here anyway.


	32. Chapter 32

It's scary, Krillin thinks, how much of Vegeta he can see in this kid's face.

Gods, even just thinking that is weird. Realizing that this baby is Vegeta's. Realizing that Bulma had a kid with Vegeta. Yeah, that same Vegeta who just over three years ago had come to this planet to destroy them all. Who would have done it if Goku hadn't defeated him. Hell, Goku would have died too if he and Gohan and Yajirobi hadn't been able to help. 

The memory of all that still left Krillin feeling sick with fear and dread. Remembering how actually dangerous Vegeta was. He'd nearly killed them all. Nearly killed Goku.

He still gets chills every time he sees Vegeta. Every time he comes over here and spots the Saiyan wandering around the property, that creepy scowl always plastered across his face, his small, tight frame all scarred up and wound like a coiled spring, like he's ready to explode and go on some murderous rampage.

Krillin doesn't understand how Bulma can feel safe having him around.

Especially now, with a baby in the house.

Trunks, she said his name was. 

Krillin has to admit, he's a cute kid, despite his resemblance to Vegeta. Must be that he looks an awful lot like Bulma too. And he's just sweet. Giggly and playful, always smiling. That was something he sure as heck didn't have in common with his father. 

Vegeta never smiled. Not unless he was trying to make you piss yourself.

Krillin wonders, looking down at the baby in his crib, if he's going to have power similar to Gohan. He was, after all, half-Saiyan.

It's hard to imagine, seeing how small and adorable he is. Of course, Gohan had been small and adorable and also incredibly sheltered once too.

Krillin doesn't imagine Vegeta had ever been anything but terrifying.

He supposes that fit with the image of him as a child soldier, which is what he had been, Bulma said. She hadn't given a great many details, only said it had been “brutal”. Her words. For some reason, Krillin doesn't doubt it.

Something had to have made Vegeta the way he was. Krillin liked to believe nobody was really born bad. Well, almost nobody. A few of the crazies they'd encountered over these last few years had left him thinking different. Especially Frieza. That guy had been the scariest being Krillin had ever encountered, bar none. He still had nightmares about him. Frieza's horrible, white face frozen into his memory, his sick, twisted smile before he'd killed him.

That was the guy Vegeta had grown up around, he keeps having to remind himself. That was the guy Vegeta had been forced to serve for nearly his entire life, up until just a few years ago now. Who, Bulma said, Vegeta had essentially been enslaved to. 

Krillin doesn't really like to think about what that must have been like. What sorts of experiences Vegeta had gone through, under the thumb of someone so plainly sadistic, so plainly without feeling as Frieza was. Someone with that much power. Someone you could never really hope to escape. 

It made Krillin feel bad, sometimes, when he did think of it, and then when he saw Vegeta and still felt so much fear and almost revulsion towards him.

He couldn't help it though. Vegeta was damned scary. And mean. He never even really looked at Krillin, let alone said hi to him. Was never friendly towards him in any way.

Whenever Krillin came over here, Vegeta was always by himself, usually sitting off in some corner of the backyard, arms crossed over his chest or face buried against the tops of his knees. Radically anti-social. Either that or locked in the gravity room Bulma had built, training. Krillin doesn't understand how Bulma can stand it, why she's even with him. He really doesn't. Especially now, with the baby.

Bulma had her parents to help, sure. But parents couldn't possibly be any sort of replacement for a father or husband, or even a boyfriend. 

Krillin knows Yamcha feels the same, though he also knows how much Yamcha's own bias was getting in the way of his judgment. Krillin can hardly blame him, considering how things had turned out.

The poor dolt still loved Bulma. But he'd blown his chance with her too, and she'd moved on, obviously.

“So where's Vegeta now?” Krillin asks, letting the baby grasp and tug at his fingers. He can already feel a strength in the kid's grip which doesn't seem really normal. Trunks was only a few months old.

“Backyard, I think.” Bulma answers, folding up some laundry. If she's bothered by it, Krillin can't hear it in her voice. 

He bites his lip, watching Trunks a moment longer before finally straightening from his crib and turning towards Bulma.

“... Does he... I mean... does Vegeta...” his voice trails off, feeling suddenly like he's way overstepping his boundaries. 

“Is Vegeta involved?” Bulma stops folding clothes and looks up at him. “That's what you were going to ask?”

Krillin nods, embarrassed and praying he hasn't pissed her off.

She doesn't sound pissed, and her casual shrug seems like a good sign.

“A little. Sort of. I mean, more than I thought he might be at first.” She says. 

Krillin isn't sure what that means, but he's too afraid to ask that she to elaborate. Bulma was in some ways just as scary as Vegeta.

She smiles at him then, a sad look in her eyes.

“He won't initiate any contact with Trunks.” She goes on, looking down, and Krillin suddenly wishes he hadn't asked at all. “But if I give Trunks to him, he'll sit with him. I've even caught him talking to him. It's sweet, in a sad sort of way. Vegeta doesn't know what he's doing, but he tries sometimes.”

“Oh.” Krillin says, not sure what else to say.

“Well, maybe it's just easier to show you what I mean.”

Abruptly Bulma stands from where she's sitting on the bed and moves over to the crib, reaching in and lifting Trunks up into her arms.

“Come on.” She says, turning and walking out the room.

Krillin stares after her a moment, stunned.

She couldn't seriously be thinking...?

“You coming?” She calls back to him from the hallway, and Krillin snaps back into motion, scurrying after her, his heart beating suddenly hard in his chest.

Was she going to give Trunks to Vegeta? That seemed... like a really bad idea. 

Realizing that she's making her way to the backyard though, her intention is obvious, and Krillin feels his mouth go a little dry, his feet stumbling and slowing as he hesitates behind her.

“Uh, B-Bulma, are you... I mean, do you think V-Vegeta would want me to see... I mean, do you think it's a good idea to let him have...”

“He's not going to hurt Trunks.” She tells him bluntly, her stride even and sure as she pushes open the backdoor leading out into the yard. “He's handled him dozens of times already and nothing's ever happened. He's careful.”

“Y-yeah, but, won't he be mad with me there?” Krillin protests further, feeling slightly queasy.

“He'll be fine. Just don't tease him about it.” Bulma says, and Krillin almost laughs.

Like he would be dumb enough to tease Vegeta about anything.

Moving out into the backyard, and he immediately spots the Saiyan. He's sitting out under that tree again, like usual, wearing a baggy tank top and sweats, a pair of sneakers on his feet, legs crossed. Again Krillin is struck by how small he is. Gohan had grown another couple inches in the last year. He would probably be taller than Vegeta soon. 

As he and Bulma move forward, he notices Vegeta's got a book in his hands. It looks incongruous. Krillin didn't figure Vegeta for a reader, at all. 

He looks up at the sound of the door closing shut and spots the both of them. Krillin watches fearfully for some sign of displeasure, but Vegeta just regards them for a moment before looking back down at the book in his lap, continuing, it seems, to read.

“Hey Vegeta,” Bulma calls to him as they move closer, and Krillin can't get past how weird it is, that their relationship seems so casual. Like Bulma can just go up to him and talk to him anytime. “Can you take Trunks for a little while?”

Finally Vegeta looks up again, his black eyes lingering on Bulma and Trunks a moment before sliding over to Krillin.

Krillin looks immediately away, his heart hammering suddenly.

Oh God...

“What's he doing here?” Vegeta asks, voice flat, emotionless.

“He's my friend Vegeta. That's what he's doing here.” Bulma answers fearlessly, tone just as flat, and Krillin stares at her, mild awe working its way into his burgeoning panic attack. How the hell did she do that? “Now will you take him? I need to do some work in the kitchen, cleaning up last night's dishes, which I don't have to remind you you contributed largely to.”

Vegeta looks away then, almost like he's intimidated, and he mutters out quietly for her to leave the boy.

“Great. Thanks!” Bulma replies cheerily, before handing Trunks down to him. Krillin watches with a feeling of dread as Vegeta takes the boy, Trunks looking absolutely tiny in the Saiyan's giant hands. That was a weird thing about Vegeta. He had these huge, incredibly powerful looking hands. Bigger than Goku's. It was such a weird contrast to how tiny he actually was.

Krillin can't help imagining Vegeta crushing the baby in those hands, and he can't help but stare in wide eyed shock as instead he unfolds his legs, stretching them out along the grass and settling the kid down between his knees, holding him gently around the waist.

“Just for a while and then I'll come get him. Thanks Vegeta!” Bulma says again before turning, grabbing Krillin by the elbow as she moves back towards the house.

“... Is he... is that... I mean...” Krillin starts to stutter, turning his head to look back and make sure his eyes aren't somehow deceiving him. 

“He's fine.” Bulma answers. “Seriously Krillin. You have to stop thinking of Vegeta as some sort of mindless killing machine. He isn't. Trunks is safe with him.”

“I know, it's just...” his voice trails off, not sure what he even means to say.

“Just watch.” Bulma tells him as she drags him back into the house and moves him towards the window looking out onto the yard.

Krillin does. He's completely fascinated, underneath his fear and disbelief. 

Vegeta is still holding Trunks around the waist, staring down at him with an expression of mild confusion. Krillin can see him talking to the boy, just like Bulma said he sometimes did.

“See?” Bulma asks after a few minutes. “They're alright together.”

Krillin nods absently, unable to tear his eyes away.

He guesses she was right. 

It was almost bizarre, to see Vegeta being so... gentle with something... someone. 

There was something almost sad about it. Bulma had said that too. 

Something, Krillin thinks, so terribly lonely about him.

//

The boy is smiling up at him. Vegeta frowns. Thoughts confused again, like every time the boy looks at him like that. Wishes Bulma hadn't left him here. Was always doing that. Leaving the boy with him. Doesn't know why. Doesn't understand.

The boy... Trunks. That's a stupid name. Should have a Saiyan name, Vegeta thinks. Doesn't matter anyway though. Was only half-Saiyan. No culture left anyhow, no Saiyan's left... except him, and Kakarott.

“You could start our race again little man.” Nappa tells him. “What do ya think?”

“He's a half-breed.” Vegeta answers, still staring down at the boy. “He doesn't even have a tail, like Kakarott's son did.”

“Yeah, but he's kinda cute.” Raditz grins. “Hard to believe he came from your ugly ass.”

“That's cause he's got a beautiful mother.” Nappa says.

“Shut up.” Vegeta snaps, face heating red. 

The boy giggles, smiling. Small, chubby arms reaching up, pudgy fingers grasping in the air like he wants to grab hold of something. Looking up at him with naked trust. Little body soft and warm where he holds the boy. Big, ugly hands covering him entirely. Thinks again how easy it would be, to crush him to death. Wishes he could stop thinking things like that. Made him sick, to think things like that. 

“Stop smiling.” Vegeta tells him, but the boy doesn't listen. Keeps smiling, keeps laughing, big, blue eyes shiny and full of trust. 

“I think he like's ya Vegeta.” Nappa starts again.  
“Nobody likes me.” Vegeta replies, taking one of his hands from the boy's side and offering his thumb and index finger. Immediately Trunks grabs hold of his fingers, laughing again. “Not even you two liked me.”

“We liked you alright Veggie.” Raditz says. “I mean, we liked you as much as anyone can like a midget.”

“Shut up.” Vegeta tells him. Can't work up any real anger at it though. Boy was distracting him.

Did the boy really like him? 

Didn't seem right. Never spent any time with him, except when Bulma forced him to, like now. Wasn't really meant jokingly, when he said nobody liked him. Never had any friends. Nappa and Raditz had been honor bound by their duty to him, as his subjects. Didn't matter if they liked him or not, they had to be with him. 

Bulma was the only person who ever spent time around him because... because she wanted to, he guesses. 

Sometimes Nappa and Raditz used to be sent off on scouting missions by themselves, leaving Vegeta alone on base. He'd sit in their room by himself then, most of the time. Only went out to eat at the canteen and train. It was always the silence that bothered him. Made him feel so restless, like he was gonna go crazy. Nappa and Raditz always made so much noise, least let him know someone was around...

Wonders then what the boy would be like, when he got older. When he began to talk, and think. 

Guesses he wouldn't like him then. Probably not. Doesn't matter anyhow. Doesn't care what the boy thought of him...

Doesn't mind it though, really, having Trunks with him. Doesn't mind the boy smiling at him... Doesn't matter to him either. But it's alright, otherwise. 

Thinks Trunks looks more like Bulma than him. Isn't ugly like him. Lucky for him then.

“Da!” The boy cries. Claps his hands together and laughs. 

Looks away from him, makes him feel weird, to see that.

“Go play in the grass.” He tells the boy, lowering him to his hands and knees before letting go his hold.

Again the boy doesn't listen, only sits there staring up at him, laughing and smiling still. Grabs the hem of his pants, tugs at it.

Frowns at the boy, a knot of irritation working through his stomach.

“Do what I tell you.” He says. “Go away, over there.” 

Picks the boy up, stretches out to place him beyond his feet in the grass.

Boy comes crawling back between his knees a moment later and Vegeta huffs, irritation growing.

Wishes Bulma would come get the useless brat. Wishes she hadn't left him alone with the boy.

“Da!” Boy cries again, crawling up suddenly onto his leg.

Turns, looks down at him. Thoughts of picking the boy up appear in his brain, thoughts of holding him against his chest. Remembers his own father, doing that with him. Remembers Father holding him close like that, tails curled together. 

Weird feeling at the thought, almost painful. Eyes sting and he doesn't understand why.

Looks away, hands closing to fists at his side, holding himself rigid. 

Doesn't like it. Doesn't like this feeling at all.

Wishes Bulma would come get the brat. Wishes she would just take him away...

//

“So, I mean, now that you've had a kid together...” Krillin starts, uncertain whether he should really be asking. Only his curiosity is getting the better of him now. “do you think you two might... ya know... get married?”

It was an absurd question on its face. Bulma, marry Vegeta?! Anyone marrying Vegeta?! The moment the words were out of his mouth, Krillin knew it was completely implausible. Only... the Saiyan had been living here at Capsule Corp for almost three years now, with no indication that Bulma or anyone else here wanted him to leave. He and Bulma had been going seemingly steady for nearly two years of that time, and now they'd had a kid together... 

Maybe it wasn't such a weird question.

Bulma glances at him sidelong from where she's doing dishes, saying nothing for a long moment, before turning her attention back to her work and giving a nonchalant shrug.

“If we were going to get married, I'd have to be the one to pop the question.” She finally says, voice oddly sad sounding.

“You don't think Vegeta wants to get married?” Krillin pushes, unable to help himself.

“It isn't that, really.” Bulma answers, her hands falling still, holding a soapy dish between them. “It's just that... I mean, I think where he comes from, you're supposed to be married before you have children. I mean, that's just the impression I get from him.” She pauses a moment, thinking. “I think he feels like having a child together binds us together, or something like that. I think he thinks we should be married.”

Krillin isn't really following this at all.

“Then why doesn't he ask you?” He asks, brow creasing in confusion.

Again Bulma shrugs.

“He's too shy.” She says simply and Krillin can't help it. He bursts out laughing.

Vegeta? Shy? That was about the silliest thing he'd ever heard anyone claim about the Saiyan.

Bulma turns to him, that pissed off look on her face, and Krillin's laughter immediately dies in his throat, leaning back in his seat, away from her.

“S-sorry, I didn't mean...” he starts to stutter, and Bulma rolls her eyes, sighing.

“No, it's fine. I get it. Vegeta isn't someone you would probably associate the word shy with, I know. But you don't know him like I do Krillin. You really don't. He is shy. But you'd have to understand about his life to see it. He doesn't...” again she pauses, seeming now to hesitate.

Finally she seems to abandon her work at the sink and comes over to the kitchen table, sinking down into a seat beside Krillin.

“Vegeta doesn't know anything about women. Or men, really. He didn't really understand anything about his own body even, when we met. Sexually, I mean. He'd never been with anyone.”

Krillin's brain doesn't process the words coming from Bulma's mouth for longer than it should. Until suddenly it does, and he blinks, staring back at her.

“What?” He finally manages, uncertain that he's even heard her right.

Her eyes cut to him, serious and sad.

She shakes her head.

“You can't breathe a word of this to Vegeta.” She tells him, as if she's just realizing that. “You promise?”

Again Krillin blinks, a kind of sick apprehension and fear taking up residence in the pit of his stomach.

Unthinking he nods, not even totally sure what he's agreeing to.

For a moment, a heavy silence falls between them.

“A-are you saying...” Krillin finally ventures, still reeling. “are you saying Vegeta's a... a virgin?”

Bulma looks away from him, back out through the kitchen windows, probably making sure Vegeta was still out in the yard with Trunks. He is.

“He was.” She says quietly, turning back to him. “I'm the first person he's ever been with.”

“But how?! I mean, how old is he, like forty!?” Krillin nearly yells, completely shocked.

“Keep your voice down!” Bulma chides him. “And no, he isn't forty. He's thirty three.”

For a moment, Krillin doesn't even know how to respond, just sitting there, staring back at her, his brain screaming in protest at the very thought.

Vegeta had been a virgin before he met Bulma? It doesn't even seem remotely plausible. The Saiyan was so... so intense, so damned frightening and weary looking, like he'd seen way too much and been around way too long. Like... like... 

“Are... are you sure he isn't just pulling your chain?” He finally asks, unable to think of anything else. “I mean, he didn't just tell you that to make you feel sorry for him or something?”

Bulma actually laughs at that.

“Believe me Krillin, Vegeta is the last person that would ever lie to make someone feel sorry for him. His pride would never allow it. You have to understand that he's completely humiliated by the fact.”

Krillin has to admit she's right about that. He'd never seen anyone get as pissed, as quickly as Vegeta did, the moment you showed even the smallest amount of pity towards him. He just lost his shit when you did.

“Look, I know it's hard to believe, but... just, believe me. Vegeta's life has been completely horrible. I can't tell you some of the things he's told me, about what he's been through. I shouldn't have even told you about me being his first. And I know you've got good reason to hate Vegeta, and to be afraid of him. But he isn't a bad person, despite everything. His life's just been so awful...”

Her voice wavers suddenly, trailing off, and she wipes at her eyes, turning away from him. 

Krillin doesn't know what to say. He feels awful suddenly, like he's butted in where he shouldn't. It was plain as day that Bulma cared about Vegeta... maybe even loved him. That she felt for him deeply.

“It's just... it's been hard.” She starts again unexpectedly, her voice threatening with tears. “It's hard with him. Ya know? He's a wreck and... I don't always know if I'm equipped to help him. And then this whole thing with the androids coming, and he's so determined to be the one to defeat them. And I know it's going to destroy him if he doesn't. He's so prideful, and he gets depressed so easily... I... I haven't told any of this to anyone.”

So of course she was telling it to him, Krillin thinks in dismay. What was it about him that made people feel like they could confide in him? Why did these things always have to happen to him?

But that was selfish, Krillin thinks then. Bulma was clearly really hurting, clearly really struggling with her relationship with Vegeta. She maybe cared too much about the Saiyan, and it was obviously messing her up, stressing her out too much, on top of her being a new mother, practically raising the baby by herself.

Without thinking he reaches out across the table, taking hold of Bulma's hand and squeezing it gently.

“It'll be okay.” He tells her, even as he's not entirely convinced of his own words. 

Bulma looks up at him, her eyes wet.

“You really think so?” She asks, and there's so much hope and doubt in her voice, it breaks Krillin's heart.

“Sure!” He forces himself to tell her, forces himself to smile. “You said yourself Vegeta's not a bad guy. And look, he's even pretty good with Trunks! I mean, if you keep caring about him the way you obviously do... it... it sounds like he's probably never had anyone to care about him the... the way you do Bulma. So if you keep caring about him, I think maybe he'll get better.”

“R-really? You really think...?” She asks again, tears finally slipping down her cheeks.

And it's weird, Krillin thinks as he nods, as he tells her sure. He isn't even lying.

He really does think, he realizes, as long as Bulma keeps caring about Vegeta... he really does think maybe it could be true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you so much to my readers! You guys make all of this possible, and inspire me so much! I hope you continue to enjoy, and please leave me your thoughts if you have a chance!


	33. Chapter 33

God, Vegeta was getting good at this, Bulma thinks.

She wraps her arms around his back as he leans down, pressing his lips against her neck, kissing her forcefully there before peppering her with more up her jaw line, quickly finding his way to her lips.

She kisses him back, eyes closing, soft moan stifled against his mouth as he pushes deeper. Rhythmic and slow and gods almighty did he feel good.

That was something about Vegeta that she'd never had with any other guy.

He loved to kiss her. She thinks, sometimes, he loved to kiss her more than anything else they did together. 

Loved to bury his face between her neck and shoulder and just hold on to her, hold her against him.

In the strangest way, he was more intimate than any partner she'd ever had. As apart and aloof, as quiet as he was, as repressed, she'd never met another man who seemed to want as much, maybe more, to simply hold on to her. Sex was a part of that, but it was more than anything simple, physical contact he wanted. She got the sense from him that if he could only ever hold her, that would be all he'd need.

But God, was he getting good at the sex.

“V... Vegeta, god...” 

He doesn't say anything, only pushes into her a last time, and she can feel him stiffen as he orgasms, his lips breaking from hers as he buries his face against her shoulder, a muted, barely audible whimper slipping from his throat. 

He keeps rolling his hips against her, even after he's spent, and it's less than a minute after that she comes too, her arms tightening around him, thighs coming together around his waist. She doesn't try to stifle her long groan, mind lost in the pleasure of the moment.

She'd never had a partner who did that either. Who kept going even after they were done. Never had a partner so conscious of whether she had finished too.

For long minutes the two of them just lie there, wrapped around each other. Vegeta's heavy, quiet breathes against her neck. The scent of him is heady, musk and sweat and something wild. 

He turns his face towards her eventually, pressing his lips against the corner of her mouth, pressing them to her lips and kissing her almost desperately. 

She kisses back again, reaching up, cupping his jaw, until finally he pulls away, pulling out of her slowly and rolling off of her onto his back.

She follows him, shifting onto her side, pressing against his as she throws her leg over his thigh, resting her head against his shoulder.

He doesn't say anything still as he reaches up, taking hold of her hand, holding it against his chest.

“That was really good.” She whispers to him, and she means it.

He'd come a long way since the first time they'd had sex. Each time now he seemed to grow in confidence. Could last several minutes now, and understood more and more what she needed to get there too.

He's quiet for a long time. She's gotten used to that too. It doesn't bother her. She'd realized a long time ago now that just because he didn't say anything didn't mean he wasn't listening to her.

“... Do... Do you...” he starts, stops again, hesitating.

She squeezes his hand back, waiting.

“Do you ever get... like there's too much n-noise... in your head...?”

His voice stammers out, fading off, and he turns his face away, like he's embarrassed.

Bulma presses her lips together, hesitating from giving a knee jerk response. 

That was something else she'd begun to learn with Vegeta. He often meant things with his words that he wasn't fully able to articulate, and it did well then to give it thought before answering. She knew how much it upset him, that he wasn't able to easily just say what he was thinking or feeling. That frustration only became more when he was reminded of it through others misunderstanding him.

“Do you mean...” she starts after a moment. “do I ever get overwhelmed by all the stuff going on around me?” 

He's quiet again for a long moment, his face still turned aside.

“... I mean... in your mind... too... too many ideas. Like you can't stop thinking? It f-feels like... like too many voices.”

Bulma watches him closely a moment.

She isn't entirely sure still what he means, though what it sounds like makes her uneasy.

She knows Vegeta suffers from nightmares, and the few times she's seen him succumb to panic attacks tells her all she needs to know about the trauma he's endured.

She knows him well enough now too, to realize when he's seeking comfort of some kind. He's asking her because he wants to know he isn't alone. He's asking her because he's scared.

“Yeah, of course.” She begins carefully after a moment. “I sometimes can't shut my brain down at all.” And that was the truth. Her thoughts often went off in such a rapid fire succession that she'd barely had one before a new idea appeared, dissolving again into the next, and the next. “I often have trouble getting to sleep for that reason alone.” She tells him, and that's also the truth.

She knows, though, that Vegeta is likely talking about something else. Something that troubled him.

He's quiet again, and Bulma turns her face, pressing her lips to his shoulder.

“What's wrong Vegeta?” She asks softly.

“... I know there's something wrong with me.” He answers after a long moment, his voice subdued, almost inaudible. “I sometimes... it's like this... this ha... haze... goes off in my brain and I can't... can't calm down. I try... I used to... Nappa used to do these br-breathing exercises with me... to try and get me to... to not be s-so angry. Sometimes it worked, but most of the time it... it didn't. He said sometimes it was like I'd... like I'd transformed into my Oozaru form, only like I couldn't control it, and I'd just... I'd just need to kill whoever got in my way. I think that... I think that's what happened, when I... when I killed Nappa...”

His voice fades with his last words, and Bulma watches him lift a hand to his mouth, closing it into a fist and biting down hard on his knuckle. Even in the darkened room, she can see his eyes gleaming too bright.

“... I didn't mean to kill him.” He says, voice nearly soundless. “I just got scared...”

Bulma doesn't know what to say. She feels suddenly, overpoweringly helpless and inadequate to deal with what Vegeta is telling her. It was too often, she thinks, that she felt this way with him. It only made it all the worse, as she knew she was likely the only person he'd ever confessed any real feeling to. Because he trusted her. 

To hear him speak about Nappa the way he did... It didn't take a mind as brilliant as hers to see that he had looked at the other Saiyan as a sort of father figure. No doubt because his real father had been lost to him long before he'd ever really gotten a chance to know him.

It's hard for Bulma to sympathize with where Vegeta is coming from, though, regarding Nappa, and Raditz. Standing outside her own bias, she's aware of that.

To her, the two other Saiyan's were nothing but monsters. One of them had kidnapped Gohan, threatened to kill him if Goku didn't comply with his demands, and given what Vegeta had told her about how children were treated where he had come from, she had no doubt that Raditz would have followed through on that threat in a heartbeat.

The other, Nappa, had absolutely devastated her friends. He'd killed Chiaotzu and Tien and Piccolo, and from what she'd heard from Krillin about the whole battle, the Saiyan had absolutely relished in it. Had taken a sadistic pleasure in torturing and killing her friends. So it's hard for her, to fully understand the fondness for him that she can now hear in Vegeta's voice. But she knows too that Vegeta had to have had a different relationship with the man. She knows that he'd spent almost his entire life practically being raised by him.

And she knows too that Vegeta himself hadn't really acted any differently, when he'd first come to Earth. If things had worked out differently... if Goku hadn't defeated him... 

She doesn't like to think of that though, and so she pushes it from her mind, choosing instead to focus on what's happening now. It was a moot point anyway, dwelling on what could have been. She supposes, if Vegeta had proven to have goodness in his heart, it was only fair to assume that Nappa and Raditz had had it too.

“Oh Vegeta, I'm... I'm sure Nappa understood that. I'm sure he knew you didn't mean... didn't mean to do what you did.” She tries to comfort him, leaning more against him, giving his thick hand another squeeze.

She sees Vegeta swallow thickly, shaking his head weakly.

“No, he... he didn't.” He tells her, his voice tremulous now, and Bulma feels her heart kick harder inside her chest. “His face, he... he looked terrified. I remember. He looked so scared. That's what... wh-what scared me. Never seen Nappa look like that. Wanted me to save him, and I just... I thought... And when he realized what I was gonna do, he... his face...” Again Vegeta's voice trails off, swallowing again, and Bulma knows he's fighting back tears.

Gods, the last thing he needed was to be burdened by more guilt. Her poor, sweet man...

“Vegeta...” she tries. “Don't, oh don't...”

“He damned me.” Vegeta says, and his voice finally cracks, and she can see tears slip from his eyes, down his temples. He lifts his hands, covering his face in naked shame. “He hated me at the end, j... just like everyone else. R-Raditz must have too. It was because of me he came to this fu-fucking planet. He wouldn't of gotten killed if I... if I hadn't sent him here alone...”

Bulma can hardly stand it. Vegeta is hurting so much, so damned much, and she doesn't know how to help him. 

She pushes herself up, reaching out for him, because it's the only thing she can think to do.

“Vegeta...” she says, grasping him by the shoulders, picking him up. She pulls him against her and he doesn't try to resist as she throws her arms around him, squeezing him against her as tightly as she can. 

He hugs her back, his face pressing against her shoulder, and she can feel the wet warmth of his tears against her bare skin, can feel his powerful frame trembling in her hold, and she can't hold her own tears back then, her heart broken.

Only he needed this too, she thinks. He needed to let some of this go.

“It's alright.” She tells him gently. “It's alright.”

Still he says nothing, his breath heavy and harsh as he tries to muffle it against her shoulder, his body shaking with the repression of his tears. She knows this has to be terrible for him. To be crying like this in front of her. 

And so she just holds on to him, trying to make him understand that she's here, that she isn't going to abandon him.

“... I s-see them, s-sometimes. I...” he mumbles against her, and Bulma doesn't quiet understand his words, too muffled. 

“What Vegeta?” She asks, her hand cradling the back of his head.

He turns his face away from her then, eyes squeezing shut, tears still streaming down his cheeks.

“... I see them, I... I see N-Nappa and... and Raditz, all... all the time. Th... they talk to me. They...”

Bulma can feel herself stiffen slightly and immediately regrets it, a vague surge of panic working through her.

What did he mean, he saw Nappa and Raditz? That they talked to him? Did he mean...?

“You... you see them?” She asks cautiously, leaning back slightly to look at him. “You mean like... you... hallucinate them?”

Gods, even putting it into words like that leaves her feeling sick with fear and uncertainty. If Vegeta was actually suffering from hallucinations, didn't that mean he... he had some sort of mental illness? Something more than just simple trauma?

She sees his face go tight with anxiety, his stiff, hesitant nod like a heavy weight sinking in her stomach, and abruptly he pulls away from her, jumping off the bed and striding halfway across the room, stopping, holding his head in his hands.

“... I'm sorry.” He says lowly. “I'm sorry. Why... why are you with me? You shouldn't be with me.”

Bulma sits up on her knees, heart racing.

“Don't say that. Vegeta, don't say that.” She says, desperate edge to her voice, and she doesn't even try to hide it.

She's scared. She's so scared right now, and she doesn't know what to do. 

He was telling her he was mentally ill. Genuinely mentally ill, on top of all the anguish, the suffering and torture he'd endured. He was telling her he saw people who weren't actually there. That he spoke to them, or they spoke to him. Did he... Gods, did he need some sort of medical help? Did he need to see a doctor? She doesn't know. She doesn't know what to do.

But she wasn't going to leave him. Not ever. She realizes that, suddenly, so powerfully it almost steals the breath away.

It doesn't matter... none of it matters. She loves him. Gods, she loves him so much, and she has to help him, somehow. Any way she can. There has to be a way.

She pushes herself off the bed, striding to him.

He starts when she reaches out, putting her arms around him from behind, leaning her head against his shoulder.

“Don't go.” She tells him. “Please don't go again. Vegeta, it... it's alright. Whatever's going on, it's alright. We can deal with it together. Do you understand? We can deal with it.”

“... I'm insane, I think... I'm insane...” he says, and he sounds so miserable. “I shouldn't be here with you. You can't trust me not to... to...”

“No.” She cuts him off sharply. “Vegeta, I do trust you. You've earned that trust. I don't give a shit what anyone else says, including you. Don't leave. I don't... I don't care if you see your dead friends. It's alright. They were... they were the only people you had that you could call friends, your whole life, so it's not even that weird probably. If... if you need help, we'll get you help. You aren't going to deal with this alone. Alright? I'm right here with you.” 

“I don't... don't tell anybody else about this. I don't want anyone else to know.” He says almost desperately.

“You know I wouldn't.” She answers. “Just, lets go back to bed Vegeta. It'll be alright, I promise.”

She reaches down, taking hold of his hand, giving him gentle tug. He turns, revealing his face to her, and she sees his tears dried already on his cheeks, his eyes averting from hers, fixing on the floor.

She cups his jaw in her palm, smoothing her thumb across the soft skin of his cheek.

“Come on.” She whispers to him, and he lets her pull him back across the room to the bed, lets her pull him down onto it with her.

“Let's just try to sleep for a little while, okay?” She speaks quietly, wrapping her arms around him from behind.

He doesn't say anything, only lies there as she combs her fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp for a long time, until she feels his breaths even out, slowing, and she knows, thankfully, that at last he's fallen asleep.

For a long time more, she can't find any sleep herself, her mind spinning and whirling with depressing, frightening thoughts. 

Vegeta probably needed help. But getting him to agree to that, getting to him see someone, a specialist or whoever... she thinks it would likely be easier for her to lift an entire mountain with her bare hands.

That he'd even confided in her what he had.. it left her feeling both humbled that he would have that amount of trust in her, and terrified that he'd done so in a desperate cry for help, and that she was going to fail miserably in getting him that help.

She wishes so desperately that Vegeta would sometimes just talk to her, just tell her what he really wanted, or what he was really feeling. 

But then, he'd just done that, hadn't he? He'd told her as plainly as he'd ever told her anything that he felt almost unbearable guilt over having killed Nappa. That he blamed himself too for Raditz' death.

God, it's still so strange for Bulma to think that, to Vegeta, those two had been family. 

She can't wipe the image of them from her mind as heartless, mercenary killers. But to hear Vegeta speak about them the way he did, it breaks her heart, to realize those two were as close to a father and a brother as anyone Vegeta had ever known or had.

It was really no wonder he was as messed up as he was.

She doesn't know how long it is she lies there, her mind turning over on itself relentlessly. It's only when the cool light of early morning starts to peak through the edges of her room's blinds that she at last falls asleep.

//

Doesn't know what the hell's wrong with him.

Doesn't know why he'd told her that. Why he keeps telling her things he shouldn't.

Was like... was like he was trying to ruin this. Kept pushing her and pushing her, revealing to her just how fucked he really was, just waiting to see when it was she would finally break and tell him to go.

She knew now.

She knew he was crazy.

Isn't helping him calm down, seeing Nappa and Raditz out of the corner of his eye, staring at him.

Disappointed looks on their faces. Probably how they felt in their last thoughts of him. Disappointment. All he was. All he ever was to anyone. 

“Don't.” He stammers as Nappa's mouth comes open to talk.

Hands tearing at his hair, at his scalp, and Nappa starts talking anyway.

“Ya shouldn't of told her about us little man.” He chides.

Vegeta turns towards him, teeth grinding, voice a snarl.

“You think I don't know that!?” Spits, and he feels his stomach flip as Nappa and Raditz flinch away from him.

Remembers that. Remembers them flinching like that, flinching away from him whenever he'd lost his temper at them. Scared. They'd been scared of him. They'd had good reason to be.

Turns away, shame and guilt burning him from the inside, and he hates... hates himself.

“She's probably gonna throw you out soon.” Raditz says quietly, like he's sorry, and Vegeta almost tells him to fuck off, barely swallowing the words as he remembers Raditz isn't really there. 

What would Bulma think, if she walked in on him now, talking to empty air? 

“Go away.” He whispers, suddenly self-conscious. 

“Listen Vegeta,” Nappa says, stubbornly refusing to disappear. “you gotta do something to keep her from tossing your ass. You gotta prove yourself to her. Prove you're a man!”

“And how am I supposed to do that!?” Spits again, turning his back. Doesn't want to see them. Doesn't want to be this way. Doesn't... doesn't want to be crazy. Crushes the heels of his palms against his eyes 'till he sees white. Wishes he could turn it off. Wishes he could...

“Kill those fuckin' androids, that's how.” Nappa says.

Feels himself stiffen.

The androids. 

They were coming soon. How much longer until they did? Doesn't know. Not exactly. 

Thought about it constantly though. Thought about being the one... being the one to kill them. Not Kakarott, or his brat of a son. Him. Thought about Bulma seeing him do it, thought about what she might think. Liked to imagine... liked to imagine seeing pride in her eyes. Like she was proud of him. Liked that thought. 

Thought, at first, he just wanted to be the one so he could rub it in Kakarott's face. 

Still wanted that. Still wanted to prove to that second rate Saiyan who his prince was. Who the real elite here was. 

Only... there was something else now too. Something like a kind of... like a kind of panic in his chest, when he thought about these androids, thought about what that boy had said about them. How they'd killed everyone, how... how even the boy hadn't been able to defeat them, when he'd killed Frieza like it was nothing...

Was stronger than Frieza had ever been, now. 

Thought of it makes his heart race. Makes his blood thrum and burn like it always did before battle. Was a Super Saiyan. Was stronger than Frieza had ever been now. Could kill him now the way that boy had. The way Kakarott should have.

Wishes... wishes so much he could. Wishes he could see Frieza one last time and... and kill him, fucking kill him...

Only that panicky feeling again, thinking about the androids. The boy had been scared of them.

Wonders, then, how strong they are. Wonders. Thinks. Thinks he won't be strong enough to beat them. Never... never strong enough to beat anyone when it mattered. Really mattered.

Panic squeezes his heart then, thinking of failing. Thinking of Bulma. 

If he failed... if... if he failed, would be the end of all this. Would lose this place too, just like... just like Vegetasei. Would lose Bulma and... even the baby. Like he lost Father. Like he lost...

Doesn't want that. Doesn't want any of that. Had to be a way. Had to believe he would be strong enough. Was stronger than he'd ever been. Stronger than Frieza had ever been. Just had to keep training. Had to keep pushing and making himself stronger. Couldn't fail. Couldn't this time.

“That's the right attitude shrimpy!” Raditz grins at him. “Remember, you're the son of King Vegeta! The strongest Saiyan in history!”

That was right. That was... was what Father had told him. Known it all his life. Was the strongest Saiyan there was. That's who... he was supposed to be...

Couldn't let the androids beat him. Had to win. Had to.

Wasn't worth anything if he lost. Wasn't worth anything to himself. Wasn't worth anything to Bulma... if he lost.

//

“Da!”

“Ohh, I think the little one is asking for his father dear!” 

Bulma sighs, keeping her eyes focused on her work. 

It had been a struggle, the last few days. Anyway more of a struggle than usual. 

After what Vegeta had told her, she'd been... Gods, it was awful. She'd been afraid to leave Trunks alone with him. Normally that's what she would have done about this time of day, while there was work she needed to get done in the lab. 

Instead she'd enlisted the help of her mother, who was, as usual, only too happy to lend her hand.

She'd told herself all manner of excuse. That Vegeta was busy training, that he would be happy to be left alone, that she was doing him a favor by relieving him from having to look after their son.

She knows that's all bullshit. 

She's afraid now that he'll have some sort of psychotic break and hurt Trunks. It's absurd, and baseless. He's never once shown any sign of hurting their child in the three and a half months since his birth. If anything, Vegeta has been incredibly, almost shockingly gentle with him, handling him with the care and timid uncertainty of a new parent.

But... he'd told her... he'd told her he hallucinated. That he saw people who weren't actually there, that he held conversations with them.

She hadn't told anyone. He'd asked her not to and she wasn't about to break her word to him.

Her mother had questioned her about why she needed her help to look after Trunks.

“Doesn't Vegeta usually take him when you're working?” She'd asked. “Not that I mind! I love looking after this precious boy!”

Bulma had muttered out some lame excuse about Vegeta wanting to focus more on his training, with the threat of the androids drawing closer with each day.

She can't even tell whether Mom had bought it or not. Probably not, considering what she'd just said.

Bulma doesn't even really think Vegeta would hurt Trunks. Not intentionally, anyway. But she knows her responsibility as a mother is to make certain of the welfare of her child, first and foremost. And Vegeta had told her he was experiencing psychotic delusions. On top of all the other horrible shit he had to deal with. 

And she knows Vegeta's probably noticed too, that she hasn't let him handle Trunks for the past two days. God, she hopes he isn't upset about it. She doesn't want him to beat himself up for confiding in her. She wants him to know that it's safe for him to do that. That he can trust her.

… Like she should trust him, at this point. 

It isn't fair to him, what she's doing.

But she's scared, and she doesn't know what to do.

“What's wrong honey.” Mom suddenly asks, jarring her from her thoughts. “Did something happen with Vegeta?”

Of course, Bulma thinks. It was stupid to think she could hide anything from her.

She sighs again, finally looking up from the remote control she'd been tinkering mindlessly with.

“Mom, can... can I ask you a question?” 

She was running a risk of revealing what Vegeta had confided in her by doing this, she knows. But she needed help figuring this out.

Her mother smiles warmly at her, encouraging as always.

“Of course sweetheart. Anything.”

Bulma hesitates, biting the inside of her cheek, trying to think of the best way to put this without betraying Vegeta's request.

“... Do... Do you think Vegeta... needs help?” She finally stammers out, voice faltering and unsure.

Her mother has Trunks in her lap, holding him with confidence, her face growing puzzled.

“Help?” She asks. “How do you mean exactly?”

“I... I mean, like, psychological help.” Bulma ventures. “He's been through so much, and I... I worry that he isn't coping with it well, and that I'm not really qualified to help him either. I'm worried that he's traumatized and needs to... to see someone about it, maybe.”

“Oh!” Her mother replies. “Have you tried talking to him about any of this?”

Bulma swallows, shaking her head.

“Not... really. I know he would probably just flat out say no to seeing a psychiatrist.”

Mom nods in understanding, shifting Trunks and lying a hand along the crown of his head. Trunks giggles and Bulma feels her heart sink.

“He's been through a lot, hasn't he?” Mom starts after a long moment. “I know he's told you things about his life that he hasn't told anyone else, so I know you understand better than any of us. It can be devastating when you grow up in a world of violence like he did. I'm not a doctor, but I think you're probably right, when you say he's suffering from some sort of trauma.”

Bulma feels her eyes sting, tears welling and slipping down her cheeks a moment later, unable to help it. She feels suddenly so overwhelmed.

“I know.” She says, voice wavering and cracking. “I don't know how to help him.”

“Oh sweetie.” Her mother stands, coming towards her, carrying Trunks against her shoulder. She takes Bulma into a hug and Bulma clings to her desperately, burying her face against her shoulder. “It's alright. We'll figure something out.”

“What?” Bulma cries, feeling like a stupid child. “If I tell him he should see someone, he'll just get angry and probably leave again.” 

“... He might.” Mom says quietly, and it only makes Bulma cry harder. “But he always comes back, doesn't he Bulma?” She says, rubbing a hand along her back. “He cares too much about you, and I think about Trunks, to stay away for long.”

“You think he cares th-that much about Trunks?” Bulma asks, her throat tight.

She still doesn't know what Vegeta really thought about their son. 

He so rarely spoke about him to her, and spent even less time, it seemed, with their baby, except when she gave him to him. But Vegeta was gentle with Trunks, and didn't seem to mind so much being with him. He never complained about it. Never said anything, positive or negative. But that was just the way Vegeta was. Quiet.

It made it almost impossible to know how he felt most of the time, and Bulma finds herself constantly worrying about whether he had any feeling for Trunks at all.

She knows he does for her. The way he nearly clung to her was proof of that. The way he became noticeably agitated when she had to go away on a business trip for a day or two. The way he told her things she knew he didn't tell anyone else.

“Yes.” Her mother says, pulling back to look at her. “I'm certain he cares about Trunks. I think maybe he just doesn't realize it himself yet.”

Bulma blinks, reaching up and wiping at her eyes.

She hadn't thought of that yet. That maybe Vegeta just wasn't... aware of his own feelings. Not consciously anyway.

It makes sense. Really. Vegeta had so much difficulty expressing himself, just saying what he was thinking or feeling. It probably was the same in his thoughts. That he had trouble organizing them, or understanding what they really meant. He'd as much as said that to her too, hadn't he? When he'd asked her if she ever had trouble slowing her own thoughts down. When he had confessed to her that he did. When he'd told her he knew something was wrong with him, that he couldn't always control his emotions. God, her heart had broken when he'd said that.

And wouldn't Vegeta's gentleness with Trunks indicate that he cared? Vegeta wasn't gentle with things or people he didn't care about, or like. He'd threatened Krillin and Gohan that one time when Bulma had foolishly tried to force them to talk. Had beaten Piccolo up out there in the desert and left him to bake in the sun when the Namekien had confronted him about it. And the last time Yamcha had been over, he'd made the mistake of getting in Vegeta's way, and gotten his face smashed against a wall for his trouble.

She knew if he could, Vegeta would like to smash Goku's face in too.

But he always handled Trunks with a care that belied his violent nature.

“Honey, whatever's going on with Vegeta, I know it's scaring you.” Mom starts again, voice soft and soothing. “But your son is his son too, and a boy needs his father. He isn't going to hurt Trunks, I'm certain of that. I think you should let Vegeta have him for the rest of the afternoon, and maybe, when you see that it's alright, it'll help calm you down and you can approach the rest of this from a better place.”

She's right, Bulma thinks. Of course she is. Keeping Trunks away from Vegeta was probably the worst thing she could do. He was likely even scared now that he'd lost her trust or something, by telling her about his hallucinations. And that was the last thing she'd ever wanted. And Trunks did need his father. He was half-Saiyan, after all. She was under no delusions that he would ever be an entirely normal child, and only Vegeta would be able to teach him about himself and the history of his world and people. About his differences physically, and mentally. 

Bulma couldn't give that to him. 

“Why don't you take your son to him Bulma, and then come back here and we'll talk more about what's going on?” Her mother holds Trunks out to her, and Bulma takes him, a nervous half-laugh slipping past her lips.

“You're right.” She nods, wiping her eye against her shoulder. “I'll take him to his father.”

Her mother smiles back at her, nodding in return.

“That's a girl.” She cups her hand against Bulma's cheek. “You'll see sweetie. Everything will work out alright.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again guys, all my thanks for all your support! It means more than I can ever say! As usual, I hope you continue to enjoy and let me know your thoughts if you have a chance!


	34. Chapter 34

“Hey squirt.” Raditz lowers himself at his side, leaning his elbows against his raised knees and looking out over the lake before them.

“... Hey.” Vegeta answers.

It's quiet here now. Vegeta likes it. Likes how he can hear all the buzzing insects and animals hiding in the surrounding woods. Likes how he can look up at the sky and see so many stars. Likes the smell of the water. 

“You hungry still? I can get you some leftovers.” Raditz says after a while.

Vegeta shakes his head.

“I'm alright.” He answers, and he can see Raditz nod from his periphery. 

They sit for a long time, not saying anything. Nappa was out on the other side of this planet, cleaning up the few last pockets of resistance. 

“... I wish we didn't have to go back.” Vegeta says, looking out at the water. He can feel his chest constrict with just the thought of it. With having to see Frieza again, and Zarbon and Dodoria and the Ginyu gang. 

He wishes... wishes they could just stay here. Just him and Raditz and Nappa. They'd do alright on their own, he thinks. They could... they could build a home out of the trees in the woods. Could get their food through hunting and gathering. Wouldn't have to answer to anybody. Wouldn't have to go scouting, or complete purges for minimal wages. Wouldn't have to worry all the time about not getting paid cause they'd fucked up somehow. Wouldn't have to... to worry about doing something wrong and being... punished.

Raditz doesn't say anything, and Vegeta looks away, feeling stupid.

Silence falls between them again, and after a while, Vegeta feels Raditz' arm come around his shoulders, pulling him to his side, and Vegeta doesn't even have the energy to pretend like he's embarrassed, instead just leans against the older boy, their tails hooking together.

It's quiet for a long time more, and Vegeta can feel himself getting sleepy.

“You want me to teach you how to swim?” Raditz' voice breaks through the fog settling over his mind, and Vegeta's eyes come open, noticing that the night has grown deeper, this world's moon reflecting brightly along the surface of the water.

He blinks, mind struggling a moment to clear.

“Swim?” He asks finally.

“Yeah!” Raditz grins, looking down at him. “I don't think you ever learned, right?”

Vegeta swallows, uncertain.

He hadn't ever learned to swim. He remembers Papa had been planning on teaching him, before... before...

“What do ya say?” Raditz gives his shoulder a squeeze, and Vegeta feels his throat tight with apprehension.

“... I don't know.” He starts to say, sick, awful fear gripping his stomach suddenly, twisting it as he remembers how Frieza had nearly drowned him just a few months before. He'd never been more terrified in his life. Can still remember what it felt like, not being able to breathe. The horrible feeling of gasping for breath and instead feeling his lung fill with freezing cold water. How hard he'd struggled to break free of the iron grip along the back of his neck, holding him under, and not being able to. Not being able to get away.

“Hey, it's alright.” Raditz says quietly, and he can probably see what a coward Vegeta is. Can probably smell the fear coming off him. “Nothing bad'll happen, I promise.”

He stands suddenly, holding out a hand for Vegeta to take.

Vegeta hesitates a moment more, but shame wins out over his fear and he takes Raditz' hand, the older boy hauling him easily up.

“This'll be fun man! You'll see!” He promises, and Vegeta looks down, crossing his arms over his chest.

He shouldn't be afraid of the water. It was stupid. Freiza wasn't here to do anything, and Raditz wouldn't let him drown.

“Here, I'll get in first and then you follow. I'll hold on to you the whole time, don't worry.” 

Raditz begins to strip his armor off, until he's down to nothing, and Vegeta watches him wade into the water, his tail swishing back and forth, splashing water onto the shore.

He turns, white teeth visible as he grins broadly at the younger Saiyan.

“You comin'?” He asks.

Vegeta still feels uncertain as he too begins to remove his armor and clothes, until he's standing naked, arms coming back up over his chest.

He feels stupidly self-conscious, for some reason.

“Come on Vegeta! I can feel myself pruning over here!” Raditz laughs, and Vegeta mumbles under his breath that he's an asshole before finally moving forward.

Radtiz holds his hands out as Vegeta reaches the edge of the water and stops, heart kicking harder in his chest.

“I won't let you go.” The older boy again promises. “Give me your hands.”

Once more embarrassment at his own fear wins out and Vegeta gives in, stepping slowly into the water, feeling the ground under his bare feet begin to slowly dissolve.

A surge of panic explodes in his chest when his footing disappears entirely and he stumbles headlong into the lake.

Raditz catches him in his arms, pulling him to his chest and laughing as Vegeta thrashes, grasping hold of the older boy as if for dear life.

“Hey, hey, take it easy. It's alright man! I've got you!”

Vegeta's eyes are wide, his heart thudding inside his ears as he looks around, seeing the shore just a few feet away.

“Hey, Vegeta, you think you can loosen your grip a little? Nappa's gonna wonder where I got the bruises from.”

He blinks, turning his eyes back to Raditz, and realizes a moment later he's got his arms wrapped round the other boy's neck, clinging to him.

He feels his face burn with shame, immediately letting go, and again Raditz laughs, his hold round Vegeta's waist firm.

“Shut up.” Vegeta mutters, looking away, feeling like an idiot. 

“You're doin' it to yourself squirt.” Raditz smiles.

“You want me to beat your ass?” Vegeta asks, reaching up and cuffing Raditz against the ear.

“OW!” Raditz yelps, and it's Vegeta's turn to grin now, sticking his tongue out at the older boy.

“Alright, alright. You wanna learn to swim or not?” Raditz grimaces, his ear already turning a bright shade of pink.

“I'm in here with you, aren't I?” Vegeta sneers, his momentary playfulness draining away as quickly as it had come. 

“Alright.” Raditz says. “Come on, we'll swim out farther to the center of the lake and then I'll show you some stuff.”

He adjusts his grip, wrapping his arm entirely around Vegeta's waist and beginning to swim with him farther out.

“Don't let me go!” Vegeta gasps, panic again choking him.

“I'm not going to.” Raditz promises. “Alright?”

Vegeta can't help gripping onto Raditz' forearm as he pulls him out deeper into the water, an irrational fear clouding his mind.

“It's alright.” Raditz tells him, at last coming to a stop in the middle of the lake. 

Vegeta doesn't let go of his arm, and Raditz doesn't complain about it.

“Alright, so, first thing we gotta do is learn how to paddle.” He says. “So what I'm gonna do is hold you up, and you're gonna kick your legs up and down in the water. Got it?”

“You aren't going to let go of me, right?” Vegeta asks, still not entirely trusting Raditz not to pull some horrible prank on him.

“Vegeta, I'm not gonna let you go. You have my word of honor. Alright? I wouldn't do that to you.”

Vegeta glances up at the older boy, seeing his face serious, and he feels embarrassed again at his own paranoia.

“... Alright.” He answers quietly, looking away.

A moment longer and Radtiz again carefully adjusts his grip, sliding his arms beneath Vegeta's chest and thighs and lifting him horizontally in the water, holding him submerged only part way.

Still Vegeta doesn't want to let go of Raditz' arm, his tail thrashing the air in agitation.

“So now just kick your legs up and down in the water, like I said.” Raditz instructs. “Just to get a feel for it.”

Vegeta tries, feeling dumb as he kicks his legs, hearing the splashing noise the motion makes.

It seems to go on forever, until he starts to grow bored and annoyed.

“Now what?!” He snaps after a while, looking up at Raditz, only to see the older boy grinning down at him again. 

“Fuck you Raditz!” He growls, trying unthinkingly to squirm free, forgetting in the moment where they are.

“Hey, hey, calm down man! We're still in the water, remember?” Raditz reminds him and quickly Vegeta falls still, sick fear grasping hold of him again.

“S-stop fucking with me Raditz.” Vegeta warns, hating the way his voice shakes.

“Alright, I'm sorry. Look, you're doing good. I'm not gonna let go, but now I want you to try stroking your arms through the water while kicking your legs. That'll get the initial swimming motion down for you.”

Vegeta feels himself stiffen slightly, realizing what Raditz is asking. For an instant, his grip on the other boy's arm tightens rather than letting go, and he feels his face burn.

“It's alright.” Raditz says again.

“I know! Stop telling me it's alright!” Vegeta snaps, angry and scared. “Just... g-give me a second.”

“Alright.” Raditz says and Vegeta huffs, feeling dumber still.

Slowly, he loosens his fingers around Raditz' forearm, feeling a little bad about the bruises he'll no doubt leave from gripping too hard. Raditz never complained whenever Vegeta accidentally, or intentionally, hurt him. Sometimes that just made Vegeta feel worse about it when it happened.

It takes an embarrisingly long time for Vegeta to let go completely, but eventually he does, trying to stroke with his arms like Raditz told him to.

“Don't forget your legs.” Raditz reminds him, and Vegeta starts kicking too.

It takes a while before he gets into a rhythm, his motion growing smoother and easier, and Vegeta can't help feeling a small swell of pride at how good he thinks he's doing. He can feel his lips tugging up at their corners, and he looks up at Raditz, smiling when he sees the other boy grinning back, expression pleased.

“That's great Vegeta! You're doing great!” Raditz tells him.

“Really?!” Vegeta asks, pride growing bigger.

“Yeah man. I think you're ready to try it on your own.” 

Vegeta's eyes go wide, the word no getting stuck in his throat even as he struggles to say it. He can't talk though. Can't get it out.

The shock is like getting punched in the face by Zarbon, a flash of terrifying white blinding his eyes in sheer panic as he feels Raditz lets him go and immediately his head sinks beneath the surface of the water. He inhales too late, and instead of air he swallows a mouthful of water, beginning to thrash in desperate horror. Everything Raditz had just taught him flies out of his head and he can't remember any of it. Can't remember... He's gonna drown! He's gonna drown and die and...

Suddenly his head breaks the surface, cool night air hitting his face, and he gasps frantically for breath, feels Raditz hands holding him again around the waist.

“Fuck, Vegeta, are you alright? I thought you were...”

“Y-you LET ME GO!” Vegeta cries, terror and rage churning violently in him. “YOU S-SAID … SAID YOU WOULDN'T LET ME GO! YOU P-PROMISED!”

He struggles in Raditz' grip, thrashing violently, trying to tear free, pounding his fists against Raditz' chest and Raditz struggles to hold him, his grip tightening, face going white with his own fear.

“Vegeta, Vegeta, calm down man! I'm sorry! Hey, I'm sorry! I thought you wanted me to! You were doing so good, and I thought...”

“YOU PROMISED RADITZ!” Vegeta screams, and he doesn't even notice that he's crying until his vision blurs with thick tears. Doesn't care anyway. Doesn't care. Doesn't matter. Promised. He fucking promised...

“Vegeta, I'm sorry! Gods, I'm so sorry. Hey, hey, come on man... come on...”

Feels Raditz pull him closer, thick, muscular arms wrapping round him. Feels himself crushed against Raditz' chest. And can't help it then. Can't help it. Starts crying. Starts really crying. Stupid, gasping sobs choke his throat, and can't control it. Can't make it stop. No more anger. Just scared. Just scared and he pushes his face against Raditz' chest, hands coming up, tearing at his hair, loud sobs and can't make it stop.

“Fuck...” Hears Raditz mumble.

Doesn't know when it is they're back on land. Didn't feel them swimming back. Must of flown. Raditz must of flown them...

Keeps tearing at his hair, can't stop crying.

“Hey, hey, hey... don't do that Vegeta. You're gonna... you're gonna hurt yourself...” 

Feels strong hands grasping round his wrists, pulling his arms down. Feels hands on his arms, rubbing up and down, and feels like he can't breathe right. Throat tight and stupid, pathetic sounds coming out.

“Vegeta, hey, hey little man, look at me. Look at me please. Tell me you're alright. I gotta... gotta see that you're alright.”

Doesn't want to look at Raditz. Doesn't want to look. Stupid. Feels stupid now. Stupid, weak, useless fucking...

“Vegeta, please...”

“Why'd you let me go?” Asks. Doesn't mean to. Just comes out, voice high and thin and hates it. Hates it when he sounds as young as he is. “Y-you promised you wouldn't Raditz. You promised...”

“Shit, I know. Vegeta, I know. I'm sorry, I thought... I thought you wanted me to. You looked like were alright. I shoulda'... fuck, I shoulda' asked first.”

Keeps his eyes fixed to the ground, shame and fear heavy in his stomach now. Wipes at his eyes. Gotta stop crying. Gotta stop before Nappa comes back and sees. Doesn't want Nappa to see.

“Vegeta, will you look at me man? I gotta make sure you're alright.” Raditz sounds scared. Feels Raditz' hand against the back of his neck. “Will you let me make sure?”

Doesn't want Nappa to see. Gotta calm down now. Gotta... Raditz didn't mean, he guesses. Didn't mean it.

Glances up at him, thinks he must look so stupid. Stupid, fucking sissy. Wasn't supposed to be like this. Supposed to be an elite warrior of the Saiyan race. Supposed to be the best. Wasn't supposed to cry and get scared like this. Stupid, stupid... Doesn't know what's wrong with him. Wishes he wasn't like this. Wishes he was different.

Raditz looks at him, lips turned down. Lines creasing his face. Looks worried. Looks sad. 

“Fuck.” He says again, and he reaches up, wiping tears off Vegeta's cheeks. “Fuck, I'm an asshole. I'm sorry Vegeta.”

Pulls back, shakes his head.

“'m fine.” Mutters. Doesn't feel fine. Feels sick still with fear. Can taste the water on his tongue still. Heart still pounding. 

“Here, lemme'... lemme' dry you off, huh?” Raditz says.

Vegeta turns, watches him get up and go over to their discarded pile of clothes. Watches Raditz pick out his own undershirt and bring it over, starts drying him off with it.

“Are ya mad at me still?” He asks after a while.

Shakes his head. 

He's not mad anymore. Not really. Just... doesn't want to think about it now. 

“Alright.” 

Raditz gets up again, and Vegeta watches him throw his clothes on before coming back over with his own.

“Need help dressing?” He asks and Vegeta shakes his head.

“I'm not a f-fucking baby Raditz.” He snaps. Isn't any real energy in it though. Feels tired all of a sudden. Worn out. Wants to sleep now.

“Alright.” Raditz says, handing the pile to him. 

Dresses fast, keeps his back to Raditz. Hates feeling exposed all of a sudden. 

“Hey, you did good out there.” Raditz says after a while.

“... No I didn't.” Vegeta answers. Keeps his back turned, pulls his knees to his chest. 

Didn't do good. Almost drowned. Forgot everything Raditz showed him because he panicked. 

“Hey man, compared to the first time I learned to swim, you did fuckin' great.” Raditz goes on, coming to sit beside him. Puts his arm around Vegeta again, and Vegeta lets him. Heart slowing down again. Doesn't feel so bad. “You shoulda' seen me. You'd have laughed your ass off!”

Vegeta blinks, stares out at the dirt spreading out across the space.

Wonders, then, when Raditz had learned to swim. Never asked him before. Thinks there's a lot about Raditz he doesn't know.

“My father taught me.” Raditz says, like he knew what Vegeta was thinking. Sounds sad when he says it, and Vegeta glances up at him, sees him staring absently ahead, like him.

Guesses Raditz had had a papa too. Never thought much about it. Guesses Nappa must have also, though that was harder to imagine. 

“... Do... do you miss your papa?” He asks. 

Raditz doesn't say anything for a long while, then he shrugs.

“Yeah. I guess so.” He answers. “Guess he must have died with the rest of the Saiyans, when the meteor hit Vegetasie...” Voice trails off and Vegeta looks away.

That wasn't true. They both knew that. Wasn't any meteor that destroyed their world...

Just like his Papa didn't die off on some mission from Frieza...

“Ya know I had a little brother too.” Raditz goes on, and Vegeta turns, looking up at him in surprise. Didn't know that either. Never heard Raditz talk about anything like that.

“... Did he... die too?” Vegeta asks, wishing a moment later he hadn't. 

Raditz shrugs, looking down at the ground, squeezing some dirt between his fingers.

“My father thought he was a disgrace, 'cause he was born with such a low battle rating. I think it was something like two.”

“Two?!” Vegeta exclaims, disbelieving. He'd never heard of any Saiyan born with such a small power. Not even his own brother had been born so weak. 

Raditz smiles.

“I know, right? Pretty pathetic. Well, 'cause of that my father had him sent away when he was just a few days old. Kinda like what happened to your brother. I only saw him once and then he was sent off to some mud ball a few galaxies away. Kinda funny, that because of that my father might have saved his life.”

Vegeta swallows, a kind of weak fluttering in his stomach. There might be another Saiyan out there, alive like them?

“Do... do you think he's s-still alive?” He asks after a long moment.

Again Raditz shrugs.

“Who knows. Maybe. If he is, he isn't any use to anyone. Not being that weak. He'd be maybe four, five years old now. Younger than you even. So he's probably dead.”

Vegeta doesn't understand the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach at Raditz' words. 

What the hell difference did it make if there was another Saiyan out there? And especially one that wimpy. Wouldn't do them any good. 

Still... it would be alright, he guesses... knowing another Saiyan.

“... Do you remember his name?” He asks, unable to help his curiosity.

“Yeah. His name was Kakarott. That's about all I do remember about him though. Like I said, I only saw him once before he was sent away.”

They fall quiet again, Vegeta's heart finally slowing in his chest, stupid tears finally drying up. Feels so dumb. Doesn't know why he has to be like this. Thinks about his father. Thinks about how disappointed he would be. Papa never was scared of anything, probably...

“... Why... why can't we just stay here?” He asks. Doesn't really mean to. Just comes out. Face heats immediately and he looks down, feeling foolish again.

Hears Raditz sigh.

“... You know we can't Vegeta.” He says quietly. 

Does know that. Knows why well as anything too.

Doesn't say anything. Doesn't want to think about it.

“Frieza would find us. You know that. He would...”

“I know!” Vegeta cuts him off, angry and frustrated. Eyes sting again and he rubs his knuckles against them. Doesn't want to cry anymore. “... I just... thought'd be nice... It's nice here. We... we could build a house and hunt our own food and...”

His voice trails off when he sees Raditz looking down at him, face tight, frowning.

“Vegeta, we shouldn't... we shouldn't think about things like that. You know? It just makes it...”

“You don't have to say it.” Vegeta says as Raditz' voice fades.

“I'm sorry.” Raditz starts and Vegeta pulls away from him. Feels hurt, for some stupid reason. Shouldn't. Knew as well as any of them they couldn't get away. Not yet. Not until... until he became strong enough to beat Frieza. Knew they were all relying on him for that. Knew he was their only chance to ever get away.

They don't talk anymore after that, him and Raditz.

It isn't long before Nappa comes back anyway. 

“Fuck Raditz, where'd you get all them bruises?” He asks.

Vegeta pretends to be asleep, and he hears Raditz lie for him. Tells Nappa they got into a sparring session.

“Little squirt beat the shit outta me, as usual.” He says.

Hears Nappa laugh, and tries not to think of tomorrow.

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

“Vegeta, it's me. Can I come in?”

Bulma waits outside the entrance to the gravity chamber, speaking into the intercom, Trunks held in her arms, a bag on baby supplies carried on her other shoulder.

At first there's no response, and Bulma feels a spike of apprehension, before with relief she hears the loud beep, the light over the door changing from red to green, indicating the gravity's been returned to normal and that it was safe to enter.

She hesitates only briefly before grasping hold the door's heavy handle and pulling it open. It doesn't take her long to spot Vegeta as she enters.

He's standing over by the room's control panel, only wearing a pair of shorts and sneakers. He's drenched in sweat and breathing hard, face tight with obvious pain, and Bulma knows he's been pushing himself again to dangerous extremes.

He isn't looking at her, his eyes fixed absently on the panel, and Bulma can tell he's avoiding eye contact with her. Her heart sinks at it. She's grown to know him well enough to know when he's embarrassed, and she has no doubt it's because of what he'd told her a few nights ago. He feels ashamed, and she wishes he didn't. He had nothing to be ashamed of.

“Hey,” she calls to him, moving across the space.

He glances at her briefly, his gaze momentarily flitting to Trunks before he nods his head and looks away again.

“I hope you aren't pushing yourself too hard in here.” She tries, closing the distance between them and reaching out, resting her hand on his arm. 

The deep scars marring his skin seem to stand out only more under the harsh floresent lighting of the space and the sheen of sweat covering his body. A constant, unrelenting reminder of his life.

“... I have to get stronger.” He says quietly after a moment, still not looking at her.

“I know.” She tells him. And she does. She understands what it means to Vegeta. She wouldn't ever belittle his goals. “I just don't want you to hurt yourself.” She tells him.

He doesn't say anything to that, and Bulma leans in, kissing the corner of his mouth.

“What gravity setting are you training at now?” She asks, almost fearful of the answer. She wants Vegeta to know she takes an interest in the things he does, but she also doesn't want to encourage him to push himself past his limits.

“500.” He answers bluntly, almost defiantly, like he's daring her to protest. It's a point of pride for him. Something he'll defend viciously and without compromise. She knows that. She knows trying to persuade him to stop will only cause him to push himself harder. And so she just smiles, nodding her head, shoving down the tight feeling of anxiety which blooms in the pit of her stomach.

500 gs? She doesn't understand how he can withstand that. Goku had nearly died training under 100 gs the first time. And she knows Vegeta had jumped in at some insane level above that, without any preconditioning. It meant so much to him, to get stronger than Goku. She wants to tell him all the time that she doesn't care whether he's stronger than Goku or not. That his value isn't based on that. But she knows that too would only upset him, so she says nothing at all.

“I was gonna leave Trunks with you for a couple hours, if that's alright?” She finally says, changing the subject, and she doesn't miss the look of surprise which passes over Vegeta's face as at last he turns to look at her, then again at Trunks. A sickening sense of guilt grips her insides, and she tries to shove it away. She forces herself to smile, holding Trunks out. “Cool?” She asks.

Vegeta blinks, eyes shifting back up to her, and Bulma's smile turns genuine at his confused look.

“I just mean are you alright with it?” She explains.

It takes a moment, but finally he nods, holding his hands out and Bulma squashes her own hesitation as she lets him take Trunks.

As always, he handles their son awkwardly but with care, holding him firmly but with obvious inexperience.

“Here, cradle him along the bend in your arm and against your chest.” Bulma tells him. “Like this.” She demonstrates with her arms, and Vegeta watches her, a bemused expression on his face.

He tries following her, timidly positioning Trunks in imitation. He's actually doing an alright job, Bulma thinks, smiling at him.

“That's good!' She exclaims.

He glances at her, eyes full of doubt.

“... I know they aren't real.” He says suddenly. “I know... I know Nappa and Raditz aren't real.”

Bulma feels herself stiffen, though, she thinks, she shouldn't be surprised. Of course Vegeta had noticed her not letting him have Trunks the last few days. He wasn't stupid. Far from it, despite what he thought of himself. 

“I know.” She says carefully. “I know, and that's good Vegeta.”

“I just can't... can't make them go away. But I know they aren't real. I know that.” He repeats, like he's afraid she won't believe him.

Bulma works hard to keep her face placid, but she can't deny the relief she feels at hearing him say those words. It doesn't really solve whatever's causing him to hallucinate, but... it shows that he isn't completely at the mercy of his hallucinations either. He was at least somewhat in control.

“I know.” She repeats quietly. She reaches out, cupping her palm against his cheek and smiling at him. He stands still, looking back at her, and her chest feels uncomfortably tight at the resignation in his eyes. 

“So, I brought you a bunch of baby supplies, since you'll have Trunks for the rest of the afternoon. That alright?” She tries changing the subject, forcing her voice to cheerfulness.

He gives her a shallow nod, and she takes that as her cue to take the bag of supplies from her shoulder, setting it down on the floor, crouching and beginning to rumage through it.

“So you've got diapers, baby formula, a change of clothes, baby powder, uh... some chew toys. He's starting to teethe, so he's crying a lot...” Bulma glances up at Vegeta, watching his expression. “Is that okay? I mean, it can be pretty annoying.”

“What is teethe?” He asks, staring down at Trunks with a bemused expression.

“Da!” Trunks exclaims, reaching short arms towards Vegeta's face, and Bulma laughs, Vegeta looking only more lost.

“It means his teeth are coming in.” She explains gently. “It hurts, so that's why he's crying more.”

“His canines are gonna hurt more.” Vegeta says, and Bulma pauses, mildly taken aback.

He must notice her surprise, because he looks up at her, frowning slightly.

“S... Saiyans have big canines.” He starts to explain falteringly, like he's scared he's said something wrong. “See?” He reaches up, pulling his upper lip back and showing her his teeth.

Bulma stares, unsure at first of what she's looking at.

Why hadn't she ever noticed that before?

Vegeta was right. He had long, sharp canines, more like an animal's than a human's. Did that mean Goku had those too? And Gohan? How the hell had she never noticed? 

Vegeta lets go his lip a moment later, looking away, and Bulma doesn't miss the almost ashamed expression which spasms over his face, shoulders slightly hunched.

She remembers then Vegeta telling her how Frieza and his lackey's favorite insult for him and the other Saiyans had been to call them “monkeys” or “dumb animals”, and her heart sinks.

“W-wow,” she forces herself to say. “those are pretty! How come I never noticed those before?”

Vegeta isn't looking at her now, and Bulma feels herself growing worried for him again. He was so fragile.

“... Th... they get bigger, during a full moon. Even... even when there isn't a moon anymore, like this planet. There's still a cycle sense.”

“Woah...” Bulma says, amazed. “I had no idea! Goku never said anything...” she trails off, realizing her mistake a second too late.

It's made obvious to her by the way Vegeta's face twists in obvious disgust a moment later.

“That's because that fool has no sense of what he even is!” He snaps, voice sharp and angry in a way Bulma hasn't heard in a while. “No sense of heritage or pride in where he comes from! He's a disgrace to the Saiyan people!”

“Okay... okay, calm down Vegeta...” Bulma starts, but Vegeta keeps talking, getting more and more worked up.

“He's never even asked... never even asked about Raditz! Doesn't have enough brains to even want to know anything about him! About who he was, or what... what his life was l-like! He just... just killed him and doesn't even f-fucking care! He... he was his brother and he d-doesn't even...”

“Vegeta, please...” Bulma stands, stepping towards him and putting a hand on his arm.

Instantly Vegeta shuts down, his eyes wide and startled like he doesn't know where he is, his voice dying in his throat.

“Calm down, please.” Bulma implores again. “You're holding Trunks, remember?”

He blinks at her, and then his eyes shift to their son, back to her a moment later.

“... I...” he starts, voice stuttering to a halt, trailing off, and he looks suddenly so completely lost.

“It's alright.” Bulma says after a moment, keeping her hand on him. “Hey, it's alright.” She says again, seeing the almost mortified look on his face.

“... I didn't mean...” he starts, stops again, struggling.

“Vegeta,” Bulma cuts him off, leaning down to look him more directly in the eye. “it's alright.”

Finally he seems to hear her, and Bulma sighs in relief.

“I know Goku can be really thoughtless sometimes.” She starts carefully after a moment. And that was true. Goku could be so single minded in his desire to fight, that he often didn't think about anything else, or just simply wasn't aware of anything else. But he also held a genuine desire to help others. He was a good person, and never meant to hurt anyone. She knows, whatever had happened with Raditz, Goku likely hadn't meant for it to go the way it had. She also knows that's probably the last thing Vegeta wants to hear. He was obviously harboring a deep hurt over what had happened with Raditz, a lot of that seeming to have funneled into resentment towards Goku. “He's... he isn't stupid, but he's simple. Do you know what I mean? He sees things in a black and white way which doesn't always... turn out for the best. He grew up here on Earth, and doesn't... he didn't even know he was from another world until a few years ago...”

If Vegeta understands what she's trying to say, he doesn't show it. He stares back at her, eyes confused, before he finally looks away.

“... He's a fool.” He mutters, almost too soft to hear.

Bulma bites her lip.

“Okay, he's a fool.” She agrees quietly, and he looks back at her. She smiles at him. “But don't tell him I said that.” She warns. “Okay?”

Vegeta blinks, and Bulma's smile turns to a grin.

And it's like the sun going off in her face, when she sees the corners of his lips twitch upwards just the smallest bit, a soft, nearly soundless laugh slipping from his throat.

It is, Bulma thinks, one of the most beautiful sights she's ever seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, my sincerest thanks to all my readers and reviewers! You guys are amazing, and are what keeps me going! I hope you enjoyed the chapter!


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a time skip guys, just to a few months forward! But now we're getting into some action and the consequences of such! Hope you enjoy!

The day they at last come, Vegeta's been gone for a week.

In the days leading up to his taking off, he'd grown progressively more agitated and, finally, to Bulma's frustration and horror, aggressive, almost violently aggressive, towards everyone, including her. Like the days when he'd first come to live here with her, and they hadn't gotten along at all.

His training had grown to an obsessive point beyond where it had already been, spending ten and more hours a day in that gravity room she'd begun to wish she had never built, barely showing his face around the house, spending no time around her or Trunks.

Bulma didn't know what the hell was wrong with him, and she was hardly surprised when he disappeared finally without a word.

Not surprised, but still disappointed.

… She'd begun to think they were passed this sort of thing.

Her mistake, for making assumptions about Vegeta at all.

Of all the times for him to not be around though...

Bulma can't kill the niggling doubt in her mind that Vegeta, in the moment when they all needed him most, had decided to turn tail and run.

It made no sense.

That wasn't who Vegeta was.

He was a lot of things, but he wasn't a coward. He would never run from a fight. Even if he was scared...

Bulma wouldn't blame him if he was. 

She's scared shitless.

Everyone is already making their way towards the island where these androids are meant to appear. Goku and Gohan and Yamcha and Piccolo. They'd told Bulma not to follow, said it would be dangerous, as if she didn't already know that. But she can't stop thinking about Vegeta and where he is. Can't stop worrying.

And anyway, she's never been one to do what she's told.

She needs to see what's happening. Needs to know. 

Maybe Vegeta was there already. Maybe he'd gone off to collect himself, for the upcoming battle.

Bulma is beginning to realize, as she makes her way to the spot, that she really doesn't know anything at all about what Vegeta did, how he was, before engaging in battle. She'd seen him fight, really fight, a total of one time, when he'd killed that green skinned bastard back on Namek. That was it. And Vegeta then had seemed so totally different to who she had gotten to know over these last three years. He'd seemed to her then like a nightmare. A vicious, arrogant, terrifying little man with power to rival Goku's and a mean streak unlike anything she'd ever known. He'd seemed cruel to her, sadistic and brutal and without any feeling or empathy to be found within him. 

She remembers, when she'd seen him, wanting nothing more than to get as far away from him as possible. Remembers thinking he was the scariest person she'd ever seen.

She wonders then what he'd been like, in all those moments during the first thirty years of his life, when he and the other Saiyans had been tasked with wiping out any resisting forces, to acquire planets for Frieza in mass, genocidal purges. What he'd been like when in the midst of so much violence and horror. 

There's so much about Vegeta she still doesn't know... doesn't understand...

She can only pray now that he's okay. 

“Please Vegeta...” she whispers to herself, holding Trunks close to her chest. “please be okay... please...”

//

Like a dream... it was like a dream.

Hadn't felt that in a long time. In a long, long time... 

Hadn't felt what it was to be stronger... to be the strongest one...

Kakarott had been losing. Been losing because the fool hadn't remembered about what they boy had warned him of. Hadn't remembered he would be struck by a condition of the heart, that he would die if he didn't ingest the pills given to him by that same boy. 

Bitter irony, if the fool died through an act of thoughtless stupidity, rather than in the heat of glorious battle. 

Vegeta hadn't known what he was feeling as he'd watched the other Saiyan's face twist in sudden, shocked agony. Watched him grasp at his chest in naked pain and crumple like dead weight to the ground.

A kind of thrill had washed over him at the sight, head spinning, dizzy with excitement and thoughts of hateful revenge. Had wanted to see Kakarott's face beaten in. Had wanted to do it himself... Only... it was something too much like fear at the sight too, and he'd thought... he'd thought, then, no... no... not you, not you too...

Thought about being alone... all alone...

Hadn't thought beyond that. Just acted. Like instinct kicking in. Could of let Kakarott die...

Should have...

Been angry at himself, afterwards... Been angry. Kicked the dumb fuck over to that green skinned Namekian, told him to get him help... 

Didn't care after that. Didn't care what any of them did. Was his fight to win now. Was his to prove himself the strongest, the greatest Saiyan of all... make his father proud, if he could see him. Show them all he wasn't... wasn't a disappointment. Wasn't a failure...

The looks on all their faces... looked so shocked, so surprised... 

Hadn't felt anything like that in so long... so long...

Not since Nappa and Raditz had used to look at him with so much awe and hope...

Knew he was the best then. Knew it. Better than Kakarott. Took him longer to achieve the legend of his people maybe, but he had. He had. Nothing to stop him now. Was descended from a long line of his people's strongest. Had it in his blood. Kakarott didn't have that. Didn't. Couldn't be as strong as him now.

Never been more sure of anything, standing here now, stupid, bloated faced android holding his wrists, smiling at him like it has the upper hand.

It doesn't.

Knows that like he always knew in his sparring sessions against Nappa... Against most soldiers on the base... against most people...

Knew he was stronger, and he hasn't felt this in so long...

“Now that I have you, I'm not going to let go, no matter what.” Android grins at him, so fucking smug.

Vegeta smiles back, and loves the look of doubt in the bastards eyes.

“No matter what?” He asks. “Is that a promise?”

“... What?” Android asks, and Vegeta's smile turns to a grin. Knows he looks mean. Knows it. Nappa used to tell him, and Raditz. Told him he looked meaner than anyone, when he wanted. Told him he looked like death... 

“You won't let go, no matter what. Promise you won't let go. No... matter... what...” Vegeta hisses, and android's face twists in horror then. Tries to stumble back, but Vegeta is faster. So much faster.

Can feel the pull of his energy into the things hands, but doesn't matter. Doesn't matter, because he's stronger, and this is what it means... this is what it means to be Super Saiyan.

Plants his feet against the things face and pulls. Feels the sorry fuck panicking. Feels it trying to let go. Can't though. Can't, because the energy of his ki is too much, like an electric shock. Fingers won't release, only spasming tighter round his wrists, and Vegeta grins. Hasn't felt this in so long. Hasn't felt what it is to win.

Things hands rip free from the force, stumbles back against the slope of the pit, trapped in here with him. Vegeta goes to his feet, smiles at it, pries its severed hands from his wrists.

Sees the naked fear in it's eyes and blood rushing in his ears then, thrill shooting down through the pit of his stomach. Red, red haze, only not like when he's scared, not when he's angry. Different. Clear as a boiling sun against a black nothing, and hears it ripping through his mind. Kill, kill, kill...

Shouts from above, fearful, awed. Knows somewhere it's Kakarott's friends... knows they see him. Knows they fear him, like before... like before, when he'd first come to this stinking, backwater rock, before Kakarott had shown, and they'd all been so scared.

Blood rushes harder, red haze thick and streaming and can feel his mouth fill with thick saliva. Taste of blood and hate, and kill, kill, kill, kill!

Doesn't know anything anymore after that. Scared thing in front of him, eyes blown wide and black with terror and knows he has to kill it. Wants to. 

Everything just sound then. High pitched screams rattling the insides of his ears, slipping to broken, wretched moans. Just stench. Stench of fear. Stench of blood and death and hate. Stench of piss and shit and steaming, not liquid hitting his face. 

And yes, Vegeta thinks. Yes. This is what he's meant to do. All this fear and hate and death...

This is what he's meant to be. All he's ever meant to be...

//

He doesn't really understand what's just happened, Trunks realizes, standing there, looking off after where his father had just disappeared into the sky.

His father.

Kinda funny... Mom never mentioned to him that he was a piece of shit.

He kinda wishes she had though. 

Maybe if she had, he wouldn't feel so fucking heartbroken right now.

He still can't believe it. Can't believe what he'd just witnessed.

Mom had almost been killed just now. Mom and.... him. Himself as a baby. Can't really get over how weird that is. 

It had been like something straight out of his worst nightmares. Watching as his mother's ship had taken a direct hit and begun plummeting to the earth with frightening speed.

His father had been closest to the explosion. Had been in the best position to help... to save her... and him...

Trunks had thought he would. Had waited just that moment too long, watching his dad, thinking he was going to jump into action any moment... any moment.

Only his dad had just stood there, eyes fixed in the direction the android had escaped in. Like he hadn't even noticed the explosion, or the vehicle containing his wife and child rushing at a fatal velocity towards hard packed dirt.

If it had hit, Bulma and her baby would be dead right now. And Vegeta didn't even fucking care.

It sucks, Trunks thinks, having all your fantasies of hero worship shattered in a single moment. 

And that's what his relationship to his dad had been. Hero worship. All the stories Mom had told him about her courageous, lonely, quiet, sad husband. About his father, who had sacrificed himself to save his small family. Who had given everything he had to protect them from the androids of the future, and died in the process. 

Trunks had fantasized about meeting him. 

When first he'd lain eyes on Vegeta, those three years ago, he had appeared to him as everything Mom had told him he was, though seeing him in reality had been almost like a dream.

It had struck Trunks then how small dad was. Mom had told him he wasn't big, but she'd never elaborated beyond that. And Trunks hadn't really been able to imagine what she'd meant until he saw Vegeta a few feet from him, and seen he was at least two inches shorter than himself, and so much slighter. 

He was just this tiny little guy, skinny, almost shrimpy looking. Almost stunted, like he'd never grown properly. Someone you could never guess, just to look at him, how strong he really was.

And yet, that had somehow only served to make him seem all the more impressive to Trunks; had only enhanced the imaginings he had of his father's bravery and fierce strength. He'd pictured to himself Vegeta as he was, small, short and slight, nothing really physically impressive about him, standing up to the androids with everything he had, battling them with every ounce of his strength... giving his life against them... 

He'd thought his father must be the bravest, most amazing man in the whole world. Someone who never gave up. Someone who's physical disadvantages never stopped him from trying.

The shock and disappointment had at first lasted only a moment. After he'd rescued Mom and himself, and he'd turned towards Vegeta, seen him just standing there, staring wide eyed and motionless at them. He hadn't even tried to act, hadn't done anything, and Trunks' shock had turned abruptly to anger.

“Why didn't you do anything!?” He'd screamed at him. “Why did you just stand there and watch?!”

His father had blinked, like coming out of a reverie, eyes shifting up to him.

“What?” He'd asked, voice distant, detached almost, and Trunks had only grown angrier.

“That's your wife and child!” He's cried, as if making his own distress known might make a difference. “Don't you care about them at all?!”

Vegeta had continued looking up at him, the same, wide eyed expression, skin a sickly pale.

And then he'd said...

“... Don't be ridiculous. I don't care about that stuff.”

He'd taken off a moment after, in the same direction as the android had gone, following after him no doubt.

Trunks is still reeling. Still can't believe it. How could he? How could his father be this way? How could he not care about his family? 

It makes no sense. Not with everything Mom had told him. Not with how she said Vegeta had given his life to protect them. 

“Are you alright?” 

He turns, and sees Mom there. His mother from this time line, anyway. She's holding the baby close, her hair disheveled, beautiful face smeared with dust and dirt. 

Trunks feels his eyes sting, and he shakes his head.

He doesn't understand how she can be so brave, when she'd almost just died. When the man who was the father of her child had just proven to her that he couldn't care less about her life, or the life of their son.

How she could ask him if he was alright, when she was the one...

“Oh, honey...” she reaches out, laying her hand on his arm, squeezing gently. “it's alright.”

“It's not alright!” He snaps, the same, crushing disappointment suddenly choking him. Confused now with a suffocating hopelessness. He doesn't understand. “He was just gonna let you die! He didn't even try... didn't even try to help you, or... or me, he...”

His voice trails off at the tears in Mom's eyes, her lovely, young face creased with stress.

“Doesn't it bother you?” Trunks asks, anger gone again. “That he doesn't care?”

“Oh Trunks,” she says. “he does care. He just... doesn't know how to show it most of the time.”

“You almost died...” he says, and hates the way his voice wavers. He can't help thinking of his mom back in his own time line. Can't help thinking of how alone she is, and how brave.

His mom here sighs, looking away from him, her hand falling away from his arm.

“... Your father has a lot of problems Trunks.” She says after a long moment, and she sounds so sad, he can hardly stand it. “He's had a really difficult life...”

“That's no excuse.” Trunks says, frustrated. “I've had a difficult life too, but I don't abandon those I love!”

Hurt flashes across Mom's face then, and Trunks wishes he hadn't said what he did.

“... It's hard for your father to even know what love is Trunks.” She says after a long moment. “I know it's difficult to understand. And I won't pretend it doesn't bother me, what just happened. But things... things with Vegeta are rarely what they appear on the surface to be. Just... try giving him another chance, will you? I know it's hard.”

Give him another chance for what, Trunks thinks, but he keeps his mouth shut, instead giving a stiff nod. He doesn't want to upset Mom anymore than she already is.

“Don't let him go off alone.” She says. “Please. Go help him?”

Another stiff nod.

Whatever happens, whatever disappointment his father has just proven to be... Trunks wouldn't let him be killed this time. 

He couldn't just stop caring... even if Dad didn't care about him at all.

//

Stupid... stupid...

Doesn't know what she had been thinking. Showing up. Showing up here. 

Hadn't even known what was happening 'till it was already over. And then that stupid boy, that...

His son.

That was his son.

Realized it, suddenly. Looking at him. Looking at him, and seen his face, just like the baby's. Just like his. 

Better looking though, thinks suddenly. Boy was better looking than him. Looked more like Bulma where it mattered...

Stupid, stupid boy. Looked at him like... looked at him like he was dirt... like he was worthless scum. Looked at him like... like Zarbon used... like Frieza... like...

Didn't do anything. Wasn't... wasn't his fucking fault... wasn't his fault the idiot woman had come with the stupid fucking baby. Should of known it would be dangerous. She shoulda' known that.

Doesn't know why he said what he did though... doesn't know why he said that. Everyone looking at him and he thought... 

Didn't want them to see... didn't want them to see how scared... how scared he was, when Bulma... and the baby... Hadn't thought then. Words just came out. Like throwing a punch...

“I don't care about that stuff...” he'd said. Just came out, like with Nappa, just... Couldn't control himself, sometimes... all the time, couldn't...

Hadn't even seen... hadn't seen her there... 

Red haze, blood rushing and kill, kill, kill... Couldn't think of anything, nothing else there but the kill...

What the fuck would the boy know? What would he know... about... about anything, about...

Sick fear when he'd realized... when he'd seen the ship explode and Bulma and... Stomach dropped and felt sick, terror tearing him to pieces when he'd thought... Couldn't move. Couldn't make himself move and... 

Dizzy relief when he'd seen the boy with them, placing them down, alive and safe. Saved them. He'd saved them and relief and something like... thought it was impressive, what he'd done, he guesses. Impressive. And then shame, embarrassed 'cause he'd just stood there and couldn't move and...

Can feel him coming. The boy. Coming after him. 

If he wanted a fight, Vegeta would give him one. Stupid, stupid fuck... If he wanted...

Closes his eyes. Breathe. Gotta breathe, gotta...

Forget about the boy now. Forget him. Had to focus. Had to kill the android. Find him and kill him. Then it would be over and... and then... then he...

“Dad!” 

Teeth grind together. Go away. Wants the boy to go away. Wishes he wouldn't call him that. Wishes...

“Wait, Dad...”

“Go away.” Vegeta hisses. Doesn't look at him. Doesn't want to see him.

“I'm not going to let you face this alone.” 

Doesn't understand what the boy even means. Hated him, he thought. Disgusted, horrified face from before. Thought he hated him...

Can feel him looking at him, flying at his side. Only ever had Nappa there, and Raditz. Only ever had them flying at his side. Doesn't like this. Doesn't like... Thinks of Trunks, thinks of the baby, small and weak. Different... so different from the young man at his side. Could only be eighteen, nineteen years old. Looks already like a powerful warrior, and can't fix that with the baby. Can't think of them as the same. 

Remembers himself at that age. Been as big as he was ever gonna get. Didn't look half so big and strong as this boy. 

Didn't look half so big and strong as him now. Knows that doesn't matter. Nappa and Raditz both had made him look like a child by comparison, and he'd been immensely more powerful... immensely more so than both of them.

Trunks was his son... is his son... Doesn't know what he feels... Thinks a father probably shouldn't... shouldn't feel that kind of thing... about a son.

Wonders sometimes if his father had ever been that way towards him...

“Let me help you.” The boy says.

Doesn't want help. Doesn't need it. Never needed it his whole life. Been on his own his whole life. Didn't need anybody's help.

Fly faster, he thinks. Tries to get away. Tries... 

Ignores the ki powerful and present... following right behind him...


	36. Chapter 36

“You guys are married?” 

Bulma glances down at Gohan, Goku's son staring up at her with genuine curiosity and, to her infinite relief, no judgment. Goku's son was just like him, in so many ways. Just a sweet, open minded kid.

She smiles tightly at him, trying to pull her mind from its distraction. She isn't able to focus on anything. Too afraid, she guesses, and horribly, horribly confused. 

She can't stop thinking about it. About the way Vegeta had just... stood there. About what he'd said.

He didn't mean it. He couldn't have. That's what she keeps telling herself. Only... he'd just stood there, hadn't made an attempt at all to rescue her or Trunks. It had been Trunks... the grown version of Trunks (something Bulma was still having a hell of a time getting used to), who had saved them. Who had then angrily confronted Vegeta about his inaction.

It was only Vegeta's face which was now serving to calm Bulma's doubts.

None of the others knew Vegeta well enough to recognizing what she had. Not even Trunks. 

His face had gone so pale, eyes wide and stunned. She'd recognized it for what it was. He'd been terrified, for an instant. Terrified, she thinks, because he'd realized a moment too late that he had almost lost her and his son.

What he'd said afterwards to Trunks... that, she thinks, she hopes, had just been Vegeta's pride getting in the way again. That he'd simply been embarrassed by his own emotions, as he so often was, and had blurted the first thing he could think to cover up what he was really feeling.

She hopes...

More than anything, maybe, it was the effect his behavior had had on Trunks that had upset her the most.

The disappointment on her son's face had been like an arrow straight to her heart, and though she'd controlled herself, she had never been angrier or more disappointed in Vegeta herself. Had barely managed to keep herself from cursing him out then and there.

But she'd remembered then the threat they were all facing, and that Vegeta, despite his behavior, was there with the rest of them, lending his strength and risking his life. And she'd remembered too that she'd been the one responsible for placing not only herself, but Trunks in a position of extreme danger. Had done so without really thinking at all of the consequences, of what could happen, and for that, she was as angry, maybe more angry, with herself than with Vegeta.

And she'd meant what she'd said to Trunks too, about his father. That Vegeta simply didn't really understand what love was. That was true. It didn't mean he wasn't capable of love. She likes to think that Vegeta loves her, in his own, broken way. But he didn't really understand that, she doesn't think. 

It was going to be something that was hard, maybe even impossible for the grown Trunks to understand. But Vegeta had never been shown what love was, he'd never been given that. Only abuse, only torture and humiliation. It wasn't such a surprise then, that he'd acted as he did.

Still, Bulma hopes he hadn't meant it. If he did...

She shakes her head, trying to clear her thoughts, focusing again on Gohan.

“No, we haven't gotten married.” She tells him.

It was weird.

She'd never even considered the question of marriage to Vegeta. It just... had never seemed like a plausible option. They lived together, had had a child together, were, more or less, perceived by everyone around them as a steady, stable couple. But marriage... that had seemed like an abstract fantasy. Not something either of them would probably even want. Though, Bulma thinks, she shouldn't make assumptions about Vegeta either.

He was, in so many ways, oddly traditionalist. Strangely courteous and well mannered with her, almost... gallant, in a way.

She'd never asked him what marriage meant to him, what role it might have played in his own culture, if marriage was even a thing there. And she knows he isn't going to simply offer the information. He rarely spoke about himself at all, not unless she pushed him to.

She wonders then...

“Oh,” Gohan says, sounding mildly confused. “'Cause I thought Trunks said you were his wife, or...”

Bulma blinks.

That was true, wasn't it?

Did that mean, in his time line, that those versions of herself and Vegeta had been married?

It was the only explanation, really, for why Trunks would have said what he did. 

Bulma's heart kicks oddly at the notion, though she isn't really sure why. 

Marrying Vegeta would probably be a disaster. He was so fucked up, and now she isn't even sure if he cares for her at all, let alone loves her. Though she can't in truth convince herself that he'd meant what he'd said. He'd treated her with so much tenderness and even kindness, in his way... she couldn't convince herself of that.

“I guess... in his time line, that we must be married, or... we must have been...” her voice trails off, remembering how the Trunks from the future had told her that Vegeta had died protecting them. Protecting his family...

What was it, she wonders, that had been different in that time line? How had things gone, that it had led to Vegeta caring enough for her and Trunks to lay down his life for them, when in this time line, he had only stood there and watched as they'd nearly lost their lives? When he stated afterwards that he didn't care at all?

Whatever it was, it doesn't change how Bulma feels now. Doesn't change the fact that, whatever his own feelings, she loves Vegeta. And loves Trunks.

Doesn't change the fact that she worries for them now, with a fear beyond her expression.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Sees red, blood dripping into his eyes, and then nothing but blinding white light and deafening ringing in his ears, an explosion of pain inside his temples, plunging down into his jaw.

Isn't sure how he ended up on the ground, only when his vision finally comes back, Ginyu is standing over him, arms crossed and grinning at him like the womanly faggot that he is. 'It's what Nappa called him, behind his back. Called him a womanly faggot. Didn't know what it meant, really. Knew it was bad though. Knew it meant Ginyu was more like a girl than a guy.

“Aww, what's the matter Veggie? I barely even touched ya and you go down like a limp dick.” 

Heart beating too fast, sick fear twisting in his stomach.

Ginyu had caught him on his way out of the training facility. Been feeling good. Always felt good, beating up on Sabba men. Easy work. Easy. Made him feel good. Made him feel strong. Barely made it past the room's entrance when Ginyu's big, meaty hand appeared, shoved him back inside, following him in. Told him they were gonna spar, and didn't know what to say.

Didn't want to spar Ginyu.

Always got beat up real bad. Worse sometimes than Zarbon even. 

Used to cry sometimes, when he'd been younger. Didn't now though. Felt proud of that. 

Felt proud he could tell Ginyu what he really thought, even though he was still scared.

“Fuck you Ginyu!” Spits blood on his stupid, shiny boots. Only gets a moment to enjoy the pissed off look on the bastards face before that shiny boot sinks into his stomach, and he vomits a second after, mostly water and a few chunks of the nasty shit he ate earlier in the canteen.

Can't breathe, heaves again but nothing comes up this time, and Ginyu's got him by the tail, but Nappa's been training him good lately and doesn't matter, doesn't hurt like it used to. Gives him an opening 'cause Ginyu's not expecting it.

Blasts the fucker in the face with a ki ball, gets dropped, manages to flip backward onto his feet and scramble back. Gets some distance between them.

Can't win this fight, and knows it.

Just pissed Ginyu off more, didn't really hurt him. Still, gets a satisfied feeling, seeing the shocked look for just that instant, seeing Ginyu rub at his face 'cause it must sting. Must sting bad, really. Been working on that technique with Nappa. Usually put Nappa on his ass, when it landed.

“You stupid fucking monkey!” Ginyu says. Not grinning anymore. Looks pissed.

Steps back, and again, back hits a wall, and he's trapped. Knows it. Fear twisting his gut and tries to get ready. Knows he's gonna get his ass kicked.

Wonders how bad it's gonna be this time. Hopes it's not too bad. Hopes Ginyu doesn't kill him. Probably won't do that. Frieza wouldn't be happy. Ginyu worshiped Frieza. Wouldn't want to piss him off.

Wishes this wasn't happening. Nappa and Raditz were gonna be upset, when they saw him. Were gonna ask him what happened. Who beat him up this time...

Doesn't want to have to answer. Doesn't want to talk about it.

Feels his eyes sting and puts his hands up. Tries to get ready.

Doesn't even see the next blow. Vision just goes black, and taste of blood down his throat, horrible ringing in his ears.

World tilts and then he's gone...

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Sees red, blood dripping into his eyes.

Hadn't seen the blow. Hadn't seen it. Hadn't been able to stop it.

Mind blanks out a minute and can't think. Can't react. Twisting fear in his stomach, and doesn't understand. Doesn't understand what's just happened.

Been fighting with another android. A woman android. Felt so sure. Could beat her easy, thought. Had beat the other one so easy. Why not this one? Kept running away. Had to keep chasing her, 'cause she was scared of him, he thought. That's what he thought. Everyone else just standing around, and thought he would show them, prove to them who was the best...

Finally turned to face him, and thought...

Hadn't seen the blow. Hadn't even seen her move. Blood in his eyes now, throbbing, stinging where she's split his skin along his forehead. Shouldn't of been able to hit him like that. Shouldn't of. Was a Super Saiyan. Was the legend of his people, shouldn't of...

Barely manages to avoid the next attack, on his heels suddenly, and too fast, he thinks. She's too fast, she's...

Can't avoid the next blow, explosion of white in his eyes, goes blind. Ringing in his ears. Can hear the boy over that. Screaming. Hears him screaming.

“DAD!”

There's a loud crack. Recognizes that sound well. Crushing bone. Hears it before he feels it. Wonders, for a moment, what it is she's broken. 

Then there's pain, and its his arm, he realizes. Snapped it clean in two, feels like. Pain is immense. Mouth goes dry, throat closing, can't breathe. Hears the boy scream again.

“Don't...” he thinks. “Don't...”

Doesn't have a chance. Boy doesn't have a chance. Was gonna get, was gonna...

World fading round the edges, and can't believe it. Can't believe this is happening again. Doesn't understand. Worked... worked so hard... worked so hard to become this and still couldn't win, still failed, still a dis... disappointment...

Hears yelling and screaming, hears the boys voice and thinks no... don't come... don't fight her... 

Thinks the boy will die, and that too will be his failure...

Like everything... everything...

Only ever been a failure...

//

“Where's Vegeta?”

It's the second thing out of her mouth, after making sure Trunks was okay. After realizing Vegeta wasn't with him, or any of the others. She can feel her heart flip sickeningly at the naked dismay on Trunks' face, her mouth going dry.

“Where is he?” She asks again, voice shaking with fear and urgency, and Trunks must realize how he's frightened her, as he answers quickly...

“He's alive. He's alright.”

Bulma almost collapses from the relief, grabbing hold of the young man who was her son from another time line, resting her head against his chest.

It's bizarre, she thinks, how physically powerful he is. She can feel the sturdiness of his frame as she leans against him, how solid he is, and again she finds herself having the most difficult time reconciling him with the baby she's been holding in her arms for the last year.

He reminds of her Vegeta. Looks so much like him. Only taller, more physically imposing. And with her coloring. He must get his height from her own mother, she thinks.

“He... he almost was killed.” Trunks tells her in a subdued voice, and Bulma looks up at him, unable to keep the tears from welling in her eyes. “Krillin gave him a senzue bean and then he took off. He didn't say anything. He didn't...”

His voice trails off, and he looks away, visibly shaken and upset, and Bulma doesn't even think as she reaches up, cupping his handsome face in her palm.

“Why does he act this way?” Trunks finally looks back at her, voice almost pleading. “Why does he have to be so angry all the time? Why does he have to be so stubborn?”

“Oh honey,” Bulma says, and she wishes she knew how to answer him. His disappointment was obvious, even more so his sadness. 

She isn't sure what he'd been expecting, what the Bulma from his time line had told him about Vegeta, but whatever it was, it clearly hadn't been what he was experiencing now.

She doesn't know how to explain to him what kind of life Vegeta's had. Doesn't know how to explain to him what he's suffered. Doesn't even know if that will make Trunks understand.

She doesn't want to think about what Vegeta is probably going through right now. 

Trunks said he'd almost been killed, which meant he must have lost to one of the androids.

He'd been so determined to beat them. His determination bordering on desperation. She knew how much it had meant to him. How much he had wanted to be the one.

She can't imagine what a loss like that must be doing to him. After he'd worked so hard...

Gods...

He shouldn't be alone now, she thinks frantically. What if he... what if he did something drastic? What if he tried to hurt himself? It wouldn't be that unusual even. He pushed himself to such dangerous extremes every day. Hurt himself every day...

All it would take was a little more and...

“I should go find him.” Trunks says suddenly, as if reading her mind. “He... he shouldn't be alone probably.”

“Oh Trunks, would you? Would you make sure he's alright? Maybe... maybe bring him back here? I know how difficult this is for you...”

Trunks smiles tightly at her, giving a weak nod.

“It's alright Mom. I'm alright. I... he... he's still my Dad. Maybe he just... just needs time. I know you wouldn't be with him if... if you didn't think he was a good man.”

Bulma stares up at him, almost in awe. She wonders how it is she manged to raise such a sensitive, thoughtful, intelligent young man, or... how some other time lines version of her did, in any case.

She can only hope she does even half as good a job with her Trunks.

“Thank you.” She says, throwing her arms around him and hugging him close. “Thank you so much baby. I know deep down your father is probably proud of you. He just... he just doesn't know how to show it, really. He's only ever known hardship. No one ever told him they were proud of him, you understand? So he doesn't know how to say it either.”

“I know.” Trunks says. “You, I mean... the you from my time line told me a little about him. She said he'd been Frieza's slave for most of his life. That he'd been taken away from his home when he'd been a little boy.”

Bulma nods, pressing her face against his shoulder.

“Yeah.” She says weakly. “It's the same with him here. He's just been really hurt... He didn't mean what he said before, about not caring about us, I don't think. If you could see the way he treats me, and... and you, little you. He can be so gentle. I know it doesn't seem like it, but...”

“Mom, it's okay.” He cuts her short, putting his hands on her shoulders and smiling down at her. “I understand. I'm gonna go find him and make sure he's alright.”

She smiles back at him, nodding, knowing absolutely she can trust him to do what he says.

//

For a moment, there's an overwhelming fear that Kakarott has somehow tricked him.

There's nothing ahead of them but white space. No shape or contour, no shadow. No depth. No sound but deathly silence, and it reminds Vegeta too much of the sound of a purged planet. After all of the death and destruction, there had only ever been overwhelming silence. An unnatural nothing.

For a moment, Vegeta thinks Kakarott has trapped him and the boy in here, and gone to claim all the glory for himself.

For a moment, Vegeta thinks Kakarott will forget them, and they'll be no escape then. No way out.

Heart kicks too hard inside his chest, and he can feel his throat closing up, familiar feeling of panic, so much like suffocating.

Grits his teeth and clamps his eyes shut, clenches his hands to fists at his sides and reminds himself to breathe.

Kakarott wouldn't do that. He wouldn't do that to Trunks, doesn't think...

Trunks...

The boy had insisted on coming in here with him. Doesn't understand why. Doesn't understand why the boy clings to him the way he does, why he wants to be around him.

Especially now...

He'd failed... gods...

After all of that... after everything... And still he'd failed.

Doesn't understand why. Doesn't understand why the gods hate him most of all.

Seems like some impossible dream now, when once he'd been called the strongest of his people. Wonders, sometimes, if they all hadn't been lying. If Nappa and Raditz hadn't purposefully thrown their sparring matches against him just to make him... make him feel...

But no, he'd killed Nappa, and Raditz had been killed by the Namekian... 

Sees them standing there in the periphery of his vision. Hadn't gone away since he's woken up from his defeat at the hands of the female android.

Must of been something... some other power he hadn't... hadn't tapped into. Couldn't be it. That couldn't be the limit to his strength. Just had to try harder still. Just had to...

Gods, the humiliation...

Thinks he could die from it.

Doesn't know why he agreed to this. Doesn't know why he didn't protest the boy coming with him.

Should have. Should have told him no. Doesn't know why he didn't...

“Dad...”

Doesn't look. Keeps his eyes fixed on the white nothing before them.

“There's a whole bunch of food in that little alcove over there. And some beds. So it... it looks like we're good on supplies and stuff.”

“Seems like a nice kid Veggie.” Raditz says and Vegeta keeps still. Doesn't want Trunks to know about them. “Don't know how he ended up that way, with your psycho genes running through him.”

Looks down, can feel his nails digging into his palms through his gloves.

“Maybe you should talk to him little man.” Nappa says.

Maybe you should shut the fuck up, Vegeta nearly snarls, barely biting down on his tongue in time.

“Dad...”

“Just don't get in my way.” He snaps, not looking at the boy.

Doesn't understand why he wishes he hadn't a moment later, and forces the regret down, instead taking off, flying into the empty space ahead.


	37. Chapter 37

One of the first things Trunks notices about Dad, living in such close quarters with him, is how badly he sleeps.

It doesn't take him long after observing it to realize Dad's suffering from nightmares. Really bad ones, judging by how violently he tosses and turns, or the way he so often cries out in obvious fear and distress.

It's such a strange contrast to how subdued and austere he is during his waking hours, and Trunks finds himself wondering if Dad even knows about his fits at night. 

He would probably be mortified to know he'd been seen, knowing how proud he is. Something else Trunks was realizing more and more, living so close to him. His father was proud, to an almost crippling degree. He wouldn't ever ask for help, wouldn't ever admit to any weakness or fear or doubt. 

At first, it had put Trunks off. Made him angry even, thinking his Dad to be disgustingly arrogant and condescending. But the more time Trunks spent around him, the more he began to understand a lot of that was just a cover, just a diversion to distract attention away from what was really going on underneath, which was, Trunks thinks, deep insecurity and trauma. 

It wasn't that Dad thought he was so much better than everyone around him. It was that he was terrified in truth that he wasn't. That he wasn't even as good.

It was weird, because there was also a real sense of confidence in him about his abilities, which was more than understandable.

Dad was a beautiful fighter. Trunks could only hope to one day be half so good. 

It wasn't so much his power, which Dad had plenty of. But Trunks doesn't think he had more than him, or the Gohan from his time. Though maybe that would change, with how brutal a regiment he was putting himself through every day in this strange place. But no, it was more just his talent. Trunks had never seen anyone move so gracefully, so fluidly and lightly on his feet. Never seen anyone with such perfect form.

They'd only sparred a couple times since coming to this place, and getting Dad to agree to even that had been like pulling teeth. But Trunks had been able to tell, just from their few rounds together, that Dad was a far superior fighter to him. He understood offense and defense and footwork so much better, understood distance and range so much better. He had the most perfect timing Trunks had ever seen, understood how to negate and neutralize an opponents strengths almost completely, how to use their weakness' against them, how to dictate the terms of a match, lulling his opponent into fighting the kind of fight he wanted them to. More than a few times Trunks had found himself chasing after Dad, trying to corner him, only for Dad to always slip or dance away, popping him in the face with a stinging jab for his mistake, or clocking him hard to the jaw with a turn heel back kick, putting Trunks on his ass. Never hard enough to really hurt him, but to let him know, if he'd wanted to, he could have.

Dad's biggest disadvantage was his size. He was so small, short and skinny, and while that made him fast, Trunks had found out quickly he wasn't very strong, not without the use of his ki, anyway, and in that case, they were about even. It gave Trunks an advantage inside, because he was physically more powerful and he could manhandle Dad a bit, bully and turn and push him. His best chance against Dad was to simply smother him. Trying to out box or kick him was a mistake. He just couldn't. But he could make it rough inside, shove Dad around, let him know his superior skills as a fighter wouldn't always matter, if Trunks got his hands on him.

Trunks could see Dad's anger every time it happened, his face growing tight with frustration and, even a few times, Trunks thought, with fear. 

A couple times, out of his own frustration at his inability to catch Dad with a shot, he'd simply reached out and grabbed him, holding him still, or shoving him to the ground and pinning him there, and Dad had never reacted well to that, twisting and turning like some wild animal to get out of Trunks' grip, spitting and hissing at him with a litany of curse words, telling him to let him go. One time Trunks hadn't let go fast enough, and he'd eaten a ki ball to the face for his failure, one that had sent him flying for hundreds of yards. 

Dad hadn't spoken a single word to him for the rest of that day.

It was better, probably, just to avoid sparring together at all, Trunks had thought more than a few times. Dad didn't like it, and Trunks didn't want to strain what little relationship they had anyway. 

Another thing he'd quickly found out about Dad. He just didn't talk. 

Trunks had never met someone who could stay silent for so long. There were days where he didn't say a single word aloud. Not one. When he did talk, his voice was so low and soft that Trunks often had a difficult time understanding him. Often had to lean in close just to make out of what he was saying. You couldn't ask Dad to repeat himself either. He would only sneer at you if you did and then take off. So if you missed it, that was it.

When he didn't catch Dad training, a hellish routine of grueling exercises which made Trunks nauseous just to watch, usually he found him sitting off somewhere by himself, knees brought up against his chest, chin resting against their tops and arms hugging his legs as he stared out at seemingly nothing.

All of it only served to increase Trunks' impression of Dad's loneliness.

He doesn't think he's ever met anyone more lonely, and he understands finally what Mom had meant, when she'd told him that about Dad all those years ago.

It was like his whole life he had had the weight of the universe on his shoulders, with no way to relieve it, and with no one to help him bear the burden. He seemed completely lost in his own world most of the time, a wandering, distant expression on his face.

A few times, Trunks had caught him talking to himself, the low, soft murmur of his voice drifting faintly in the oppressive, damp air of this place. It was always too quiet for Trunks to hear what he was saying, and he thinks maybe that had been better. Whatever Dad was saying, it wasn't meant for anyone else's ears.

Trunks finds Dad now in the little space where their beds are, sitting on his side in that same position, with his knees to his chest. He doesn't even seem to notice as Trunks comes in and hops up on his own bed, not moving, eyes not even shifting.

They'd both been training hard today, and unusually, Dad had been the first to finally call it quits, quietly retreating to the alcove and disappearing inside. That had been about half an hour ago, Trunks guesses, though it was hard to keep track of the time in a place like this.

For a while, Trunks only sits there, wondering if he should try to start up a conversation. He's so nervous around Dad. He guesses it's because he wants somehow to impress him. It was so hard to know what he was thinking though, whether he just wanted to be left alone, if talking to him only upset him, or made him angry. Not for the first time, Trunks wishes he could have known his father growing up...

And then he wonders suddenly about Dad's own family. About who they were, or if he'd ever known them.

Back in his time line, Mom had never really told him much about Dad's life back on his home planet. He'd figured out, from some of the things she'd said, that it was because she herself just didn't know that much, that Vegeta had never really told her about his family. All she'd really been able to tell him was that he'd been taken from his home when he'd been a very young boy, maybe four or five years old. If that was true for this time lines Vegeta, then Trunks thinks there probably isn't a very good chance he knew his own mother or father well. Only Trunks finds himself overcome with curiosity now, and without really thinking it through, he blurts out...

“Do you remember your parents?”

He realizes an instant later what he's just done, and he feels his mouth go dry, eyes wide as he glances at Dad, seeing him stiffen slightly.

“I... I mean, you don't have to answer, I mean, obviously, if you don't... I mean...” he begins to stammer, his mind screaming at him to shut up already, only his mouth doesn't seem to want to comply, nonsensical rambling continuing to fall off his tongue.

“Stop talking.” Dad finally says, and Trunks' mouth clamps shut, certain he's absolutely blown it. Dad was probably going to either leave or turn over and pretend to fall asleep, like he sometimes did, sending the message loud and clear that he didn't want to be bothered.

Trunks can't help the absolute shock he feels then, when Dad starts talking.

“... I remember my father. I hardly remember my mother.” 

He shifts, turning his head aside, so that Trunks can only see a small part of his face.

“They're both dead.”

He shrugs, and falls silent again.

Trunks swallows, feeling his throat close up, his eyes burning.

“What... huh, w-what do you remember about your father?” He dares to ask, knowing he's pushing it. Dad was acting like he didn't care, and maybe he didn't. But the way he wouldn't look at Trunks, the way he was holding himself so still...

For long minutes Dad doesn't say anything, and Trunks is beginning to think he won't when he starts again.

“... He was a great warrior...” Dad says so softly Trunks almost doesn't catch it. “A great man.”

Dad shifts again, looking down at the sheets of his bed, beginning to fidget with them absently.

“He was the king of our people. He led our people to prosperity. Without him, the Saiyan race would have continued living as barbarians in caves, eking out a useless existence. He was a great man.”

Trunks blinks, his surprise continuing to intensify.

He'd never heard Dad speak about anybody like that before. He hadn't even known if Vegeta was capable of that kind of admiration. He sounded almost in awe of him.

“Wow, he... he sounds like an amazing person. I wish I... I could have known him...” he says, thinking a moment later he must sound like an idiot.

Dad finally glances at him, before looking quickly away, his arms wrapping again round his knees, holding tight to them.

He doesn't say anything else, and Trunks figures he's been lucky so far, Dad talking more to him than he has the whole time they've been in here.

“And you don't... remember you mother very well?”

He braces, waiting for Dad to finally grow sick of all his questions and storm off. Only he's surprised once more when Vegeta stays where he is, eyes staring ahead of him, quiet a long time again before his nearly soundless voice carries over gently.

“She took my younger brother and left Vegetasie when I was maybe two. I never saw either of them again after that.” Again he shrugs. “I remember her scent. And an image of her face which is probably wrong. The The last time I saw my father, I was four. I remember him better. I look like him, I think. I...” He stops, turning fully away, and Trunks can see a tremor work through Dad's shoulders, his frame visibly stiffening.

Trunks swallows, overcome suddenly with a deep sadness. Gods, it was so sad. 

“It doesn't matter anymore.” Dad goes on after a moment, voice oddly steady. 

He goes quiet again for a long time, and Trunks is certain the conversation is over then, feeling lucky to have gotten as much as he did. Dad didn't have to tell him any of that, and yet he had. He can't help feeling a little proud, that Dad would trust him enough for that.

“Wh... what about you? Y-your mother is... B-Bulma is still alive in your... your time?”

Trunks stares, unable at first to process that Dad's just asked him a question. And then a moment later his brain catches up, realizing the words. His heart kicks oddly in his chest, his eyes burning again, and he wipes at them, trying to steady his voice, throat suddenly tight.

He misses Mom so much. Worries about her constantly. Being away from her, not knowing if she's safe, not knowing if the androids have somehow found her... It was nearly unbearable. Making it worse still was now understanding that whatever happened in this time line, it would have no effect on his own. Defeating the androids here wouldn't stop them in his future. He was here now only to help everyone as best he could, and in the hopes that he might grow strong enough in so doing to defeat the androids back home.

Hearing Dad ask about Mom though, it was the last thing Trunks had ever expected out of him. Against all the times he'd heard Mom talk about him, talk about how much she missed him, it's surreal, his heart aching at the memories, at how it reminds him of Mom now, and how scared he is for her.

“Y-yeah, she's... she's alive. She's back home... waiting for me.”

He trails off, overcome with emotion finally, and he looks away, his eyes burning.

Long seconds pass by in silence, and Trunks again thinks the conversation must be finished. Only Dad's voice drifts over to him once more, again so quiet he almost doesn't hear.

“... You do right by her.” He says, and Trunks looks at him, startled. He sees Dad nod, as if to himself. “She is a good and a strong woman. She deserves to be cared for.” He nods one more time, as if in affirmation of his own words, and doesn't look at Trunks, falling silent again.

For a long moment, Trunks doesn't know what to say, still trying to process what he's just heard.

Dad had sounded so... almost tender just now, and sad, and Trunks realizes, suddenly, for the first time since he's come here, all the anger and pain he'd felt towards his father, all the disappointment... it's gone. In it's place a quiet feeling of sadness for him, and an odd, abrupt affection. He wants suddenly to hug Dad tight. To tell him it's okay. To tell him thank you. 

Looking at him sitting over there, curled in on himself, he looks so small, and so alone, so apart and alienated from everything, and Trunks wonders for the first time about how strange it must be for him, to have come from the kind of life he'd had, to have come from so different a place, and to end up here, in a world so totally opposite, so foreign to him. 

It strikes him suddenly then. Mom had maybe been the first person here on Earth to show Dad any kindness, or acceptance. Maybe the first person in his life to really show him that at all. It was no wonder then, that he'd bonded with her. Maybe even fallen in love with her, though he doesn't know if Dad would ever admit to that, or even understand it if he had. 

Trunks can hardly imagine what it must have meant to him though, to be shown that kindness Mom was capable of, after a lifetime of hell and degradation. What that must have felt like to Dad...

He can feel his eyes sting with abrupt tears at the thought of it, and he turns away, wiping at them.

No, he couldn't be angry at Dad anymore. Couldn't feel any animosity towards him now. Now when he was beginning to understand what Mom had meant. To understand why she had fallen in love with him.

His father is a good man, deep down. Trunks is sure of it. Even if Dad doesn't know it himself.

“Th-thanks.” He finally blurts. “Thanks for... for saying that.”

“It isn't a compliment.” Dad says sharply, keeping his eyes fixed ahead. “I'm only stating the truth.”

Trunks can't help smiling at him then, just a little.

“I know.” He says, smile growing as Dad glances at him.

Dad looks quickly away, a frustrated huff escaping him.

“Turn the lights off when you're ready to sleep.” He says flatly, and without another word he lies down, turning his back and saying nothing more.

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

“Step left, jab, step left, jab. Step left, right cross. Turn your hip over. That's right, good. Put your weight into it. Good, good little man. Again. Right cross, uppercut. Good! Alright, time for a break.”

“I can keep going.” 

Nappa gives him that look he gives sometimes. Mix of being impressed and worried. Turns away, agitated, crosses his arms. Wishes Nappa would stop worrying. Could keep up with him easy. Just cause he got a little dizzy the other day while training...

“Lets takes a break Vegeta. We'll jump back in soon. I know you're strong.”

Frowns, agitated, a little embarrassed. Wishes Nappa would stop doing that too. Stop trying to get on his good side by paying him compliments.

Feels a little weak, and hates that too. Hates the relief he felt when Nappa called for a break.

“Here ya go.” Nappa's hand in front of him, holding a flask of water.

Doesn't hesitate to take it. Realizes suddenly how thirsty he is, throat aching as he turns the flask over, pouring the water down, gulping desperately.

“Let's go sit.” Nappa tells him, and doesn't even have the strength to argue as he follows after Big man, flopping down beside him against the rooms far wall. Keeps drinking, lost in the relief of it.

“You're doin' real good little man. Your defense is kickin' ass.” Nappa says after a while, and can't help the swell of pride he feels at it. Tries to stamp it down. Can't get too confident. Had to keep getting better, or... or they would never... never get out of here, never...

“Listen, I know you hate it, but we gotta work on grappling next.”

Stomach drops, feels himself stiffen.

Hated grappling. Hated feeling trapped. Hated how everyone seemed stronger than him, 'cause he was too small, too fucking small, too...

“You can use your ki, but I want you to try breaking free of some of the holds without it too, alright? You gotta learn to rely on your body alone, cause sometimes your ki's gonna fail you, and you gotta know the techniques to get out of someone's grip. Alright?”

“... Fine.” He answers. Hates how small his voice is. Hates how he feels scared. Nappa wasn't gonna hurt him. Knew that. Hated the feel of it though. Hated how strong Nappa was. Hated how his throat closed up when he couldn't break free of Nappa's hold. Felt like everything was closing in, vision going black. Hated the panic in his chest then, way his heart beat too hard.

“I know it's hard for you Vegeta...”

“It's fine.” Snaps, angry. Tries not to say how he thinks grappling is stupid. To ask why he can't just use his ki to blast fuckers off of him when they grabbed hold. Knows why. Knows sometimes opponents might have more powerful ki than him. Knows sometimes his ki would deplete, and he wouldn't have the luxury of using it. Would have to rely on skill alone then. Would have to...

Liked boxing and kickboxing more, liked making opponents miss, liked using his speed. Didn't like hands on him. Didn't want anyone touching him ever...

“Your technique's the best I ever seen little man.” Nappa tells him after a while. “Your form is fuckin' beautiful.”

Looks down, hand squeezing over the flask, threatening to crush it. 

Lot of good his form did him, when he wasn't strong enough. Didn't have enough power. Wasn't big enough, wasn't strong, wasn't...

“You're gifted Vegeta. You know that? I ain't never seen talent like yours.”

“Stop kissing my ass Nappa.” Says, irritated. “If I'm so good, how come I still gotta take lessons from you?”

Nappa's big arm comes round his shoulders, giving him a squeeze. Big man laughs.

“Well just cause you got talent doesn't mean you ain't got nothin' to learn kiddo. Remember that. You never stop learnin'. There's lots you don't know.”

“Yeah? Like what?” Gives Nappa a shove. Hates the way it doesn't even move him.

“Like your murder face.” Big man says, grinning. “You gotta work on makin' yourself look scarier.”

Looks up at Nappa, frowns. 

“Why? If they know I could kill 'em anyway, why do I have to look scary?”

Nappa points to his head, tapping his temple with one of his thick fingers.

“It's psychological warfare Vegeta. If ya look scary, you've already won half the battle. Here, lemme see your murder face.”

Can feel his face grow hot. Looks away. Doesn't know who Nappa thought he was kidding. Thinks, for a minute, Big man's even making fun of him. 

“I'm not even four feet tall. Who the fuck am I gonna scare with my face?” Mutters, cheeks growing warmer. Doesn't even notice as he wraps his arms round himself, shrinking down.

“Come on! Let's just see it. Lets see those canines kiddo!” 

“I ain't scary Nappa! I'm almost twelve years old and I still look like I'm fucking five!” Snaps. Can't take it. Can't take any of it. Wasn't ever gonna get any bigger, probably. Everyone on base thought he was a joke anyway. Could hear them all laughing and snickering to themselves every time he walked by. 

Big man falls quiet, and Vegeta turns his face away. Stupid. Whole thing was stupid. 

“Well hell, doesn't that give you an advantage though?” Nappa finally starts again. “I mean, it'll make the bastards underestimate you every time, thinking cause you're little that must mean you're weak. And we both know that sure as shit ain't true. You kick Raditz and my ass daily. Remember?”

“... So what?” Mumbles, keeps his face turned away.

“Hey little man, you can kick the living shit out of about 99% of the fuckers on this base. You know that, right? Think how they feel, knowing a little kid like you could beat them to death if you wanted.”

“I'm not a little kid Nappa!” Spits, finally pulls away, scooting down the wall.

“Alright, alright. Don't get mad. I'm just sayin', being small isn't always as much of a disadvantage as you may think. You can use it against your opponents too.”

Eyes close. Feels them sting and shakes his head.

“... I'm not ever gonna get any bigger.” Says, more to himself than anyone. Knew that now. Might grow a little, but he wasn't ever gonna be tall like his father, or even like Raditz. Wasn't ever gonna be like that.

Big man doesn't try to say anything else after that, and can't help but feel grateful. Can't stand it, when Nappa tries to tell him he's special anymore.

“How 'bout we work on that grappling now Vegeta?” He finally says, and he resigns himself to it, answering alright.

Tries not to panic as Nappa instructs him, telling him to get on his hands and knees while Big man takes his back. Can feel Nappa's massive bulk hovering above him, and tries not to panic, breath coming shallow and uneven. Tries not to panic as he feels Big man lock his arms round his neck, broad chest lying against the blades of his shoulders. Sounds far away, Big man sounds far away as he tells him to try and twist free. Tries not to panic, but muscles won't work right now. Can feel them seizing up, vision going black. Doesn't like this. Doesn't... doesn't like it...

Thinks he's gonna be sick, and can't break free... can't break... can't...

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

“I'm not doing that anymore Nappa.”

Big man stares at him, disappointed look, and Vegeta doesn't look back. Hates this. Hates that he feels this still. Like he needs to impress Big man still. Nappa was dead. Didn't... didn't need to...

“The kid keeps pinnin' you little man. You gotta work on breakin' his holds.”

Heart beating loud in his ears, sick taste of adrenaline.

“Go... go away. Don't have to do... don't have to do anything...”

“He's stronger than you little man. You know that. He gets his hands on you and you're in trouble...”

“SHUT UP!” 

Hands ripping at his hair, clamps his eyes shut. Wants him to go. Go away. Go away now...

Heavy hand on his shoulder, and he chokes, sharp gasp tearing from his throat, heart kicking vicious and fear, fear, fear...

“Dad, are you alright?!”

Doesn't think. Turn, attack. Being attacked. Have to defend, have to...

First punch misses, second one too. He's fast, whoever he is. Being sloppy, misses another shot, loses his balance, too much put into it, loses his balance and...

“Dad! Stop! It's me!”

Saying something. He's saying something. Laughing at him. Can hear him laughing. Feels anger boil in his chest, choking him, sees red and wants to kill, wants to...

Throws a punch and misses, feels his hand caught in a strong grip. 

“Dad!!!”

Other hand still free, can use that. Can still use...

Flash of blinding white explodes in his eyes, ears deaf with ringing. Familiar sensation of falling, and knows he's going down. Knows he's been caught hard and he's...

Pain brings him back, and sees Trunks leaning over him then, look of concern on his face.

“Dad, I... I'm so sorry, I didn't... Gods, I didn't mean to hit you! It was just reflex. You didn't seem like you were hearing me and I just... Gods, I'm so sorry! Are you okay?”

Trunks' hand on his shoulder and doesn't even know what happened. Only the familiar taste of rage and humiliation in his gut now.

“Get the fuck off me!” Snaps, shoves the boy's hand off. 

Turns from him, back up to his feet, nearly stumbles, nearly falls back to his knees, and feels humiliation choke him, teeth grinding together. Can't escape this. Can't ever seem to...

“Dad!” Hears the boy cry after him, worry in his voice, and wants to turn, wants to punch his teeth out, punch his fucking perfect face and...

Doesn't. Doesn't say anything. Keep walking, thinks. Keep walking. Hold it in. Had to... had to hold it in or he would... 

… Fucking lose it...

No good... no good to anyone... no good then...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, all my thanks to everyone who's read and/or reviewed! I hope you're continuing to enjoy and as always, if you have a chance, please leave me your thoughts!


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, who saw the episode of DBS last night?! Vegeta sure kicked serious ass! What an amazing moment! And now, on to the new chapter!

Trunks wakes in the middle of the night from his own nightmares, undershirt drenched in sweat and breath coming too fast and shallow.

Nothing new for him. 

He'd suffered nightmares since he was a child. Since Gohan had... 

He clamps his eyes shut, bringing his palms to his forehead and tries to remember to breathe.

Gods, Gohan...

He'd been like an older brother to Trunks. The only family he'd had left, besides Mom. Trunks had idolized him, looked up to him. Gohan had taught him everything he knew, had been there for him through everything...

He misses him so much sometimes, it's like there isn't enough air for his lungs and he can't make the pain stop, can't...

Mom had told him so many times it wasn't his fault, what had happened to Gohan. That there was nothing he could have done to stop him from being killed by the androids. She keeps telling him that, only... 

He dreams about Gohan almost every night, and about the androids. Dreams about what had happened, his imagination acting as torturer, visualizing horrifying, unspeakable scenes. He dreams of Gohan in his final moments, screaming for him, begging to be helped, to be saved, and Trunks is always too late, always frozen in place, unable to move, to act. Unable to do anything.

… Just as it had been in reality.

When he'd seen Android 17 and 18 then, in this present, when he'd seen Dad going after them so carelessly, so recklessly, it had been like a nightmare in itself. Like his worst dreams made manifest in reality. The past repeating itself before his eyes, and him helpless to stop it. He'd seen Gohan killed at their hands, and seen in his mind the same again happening to Dad, and he'd thought, no, no, no, it couldn't happen. He couldn't let it happen again. Not again...

He lifts his hands and sees them shaking, the vision of fire and death still fading from his mind, and he shakes his head, shoving his hands into the pits of his arms to keep them still.

He isn't going to be able to fall back asleep tonight, probably.

He glances to his side and sees Dad's bed, empty, the sheets tangled all together at the foot of the mattress, and he feels his heart sink.

He still doesn't understand what had happened.

He'd seen Dad, again talking to himself, something he'd witnessed a fair number of times since they'd come here. Only Trunks would have had to have been blind to miss the distress apparent in his father then, the way he was hunched in on himself as if in physical pain, ripping at his scalp, face twisted in what had seemed despair. And then he'd begun screaming, as if shouting at some invisible person to shut up, voice broken apart in desperation, and Trunks hadn't been able anymore to stand by and watch, thinking something had been really wrong. 

He'd gone to him, asking if he was alright, putting his hand on his shoulder when Dad hadn't seemed to hear him. Dad had been shaking almost violently, and then he'd gasped in naked shock, turning so quickly on him Trunks had barely seen the movement, barely stepped back in time to miss the winging blow Dad had thrown at his face.

He hadn't been there. Dad hadn't been there, Trunks doesn't think. Not mentally. His eyes had seemed glazed, distant and unseeing, and he'd attacked Trunks with an intensity which had been missing from any of their earlier sparring sessions. Like he'd really, truly been trying to hurt him. Attacked too with a sloppiness totally uncharacteristic, all of his incredible precision and timing and control suddenly gone, throwing wide, looping punches which Trunks was able easily to dodge. Only the punches had been thrown with deadly intent, whizzing by with such force that Trunks had been able to feel the impact on the air around them. Dad's face had been twisted in a vicious snarl, a guttural growl emanating deep from his chest with each shot. He'd looked like an animal, and Trunks hadn't thought. Instinct had kicked in, fear and adrenaline, and he'd lashed out in defense, catching Dad hard, square in the face, putting him down.

The blow had seemed, finally, to snap Dad out of whatever trance he'd been in, his eyes abruptly clearing, and Trunks had been able to tell he was actually seeing him.

He'd been so relieved, and had felt suddenly so guilty when he'd realized that he'd hit Dad as hard as he had, rushing over to make sure he was alright.

He'd had a bloody nose, and when Trunks had touched him, the reaction had been almost immediate, Dad violently shoving him off. Trunks hasn't ever seen him so angry, and for the last few days, they hadn't spoken a single word to each other, though Trunks had tried in vain to communicate.

He'd thought they'd been making progress, on some level anyway. With the way Dad had spoken to him the night before, about his family, and asking about Mom back in his own time line...

The whole situation was so fragile, Trunks sometimes thinking to hope for more was foolish. Dad was just so distant...

He wonders where Dad is then, sudden worry churning in his gut as he pushes himself from his bed and makes his way out of the room, into the open space of the time chamber.

It doesn't take him long to spot Dad, off several hundred meters, putting himself through the paces again. 

It must be late, and Trunks thinks Dad couldn't have gotten much sleep. He'd come in from training late anyway, and Trunks hadn't seen him really take any breaks during the day, hadn't even seen him stop to eat or drink anything. 

He can feel his worry increase as he makes his way quietly across the space, moving towards Dad cautiously, opening his energy up to be easily read. He doesn't want to take Dad by surprise again, certain that would only worsen the rift that had opened up between them.

A few dozen yards out, he sits down, watching Dad push himself.

Trunks wishes he wouldn't. Not so hard anyway. The regiment Dad put himself through was more brutal than anything Trunks had ever witnessed, bordering, at times, on self-torture.

Now is no exception.

He watches with a feeling of unease and slight nausea as Dad goes through an intensive set of of high impact intervals, rotating between viciously hard reps of pullups, pushups, plyometrics, shadowboxing, and short bursts of powerful sprints.

His muscles must be screaming with the exhaustion of built up lactic acid, but he isn't slowing, isn't showing any sign of easing up.

Trunks watches it go on for another solid, uninterrupted half an hour before he starts to really consider stepping in and stopping Dad.

It's in that moment the decision is made for him, when finally Dad pushes too far, and Trunks feels his eyes go wide in shock as he sees him wobble as he pushes himself up from a set of pushups, his knees visibly buckling, balance lost, and a moment later he collapses flat onto his side, unmoving.

Trunks bursts to his feet, sprinting towards his father, heart beating near panic in his chest.

The relief he feels upon reaching Dad, seeing him still breathing, nearly puts him down himself, and he drops to his knees at his father's side, reaching out and pressing his fingers to his pulse anyway.

He feels it, solid and strong, only too fast, frantic even.

Trunks' gaze shifts to Dad's face, seeing his eyes half open and unfocused, staring blearily at nothing. His skin is drenched in a thick sheen of sweat, his chest rising and falling with heavy breathing, lips parted. He's dehydrated, no doubt, Trunks thinks, and something else maybe, something worse. 

And then Trunks looks over the rest of him. At his body. He isn't wearing anything but a pair of shorts and some sneakers, and for an instant, Trunks is struck dumb by the ravage of scarring covering his entire torso and even his legs, and he realizes, suddenly, that he's never seen Dad this unclothed before, never seen his body uncovered like this. He always wore the full body suit which Mom had provided both of them, along with the armor. Always wore gloves even, covering his hands... Even when they went to sleep, he'd never seen his father without a long sleeved shirt and sweats.

… He'd had no idea... Gods...

He shakes his head, not having time to wonder about where all the scars had come from, instead slipping his arms underneath Dad and lifting him up. He had to get him back to their rooms, get him some liquids...

Dad seems as light as a feather in his arms, like he weighs nothing at all. Trunks can't really say he's surprised by that. Dad was lean as hell, his build unbelievably tight and shredded, his muscle incredibly defined. But he didn't have much mass. 

Maybe most unbelievable was how hard Trunks knew he could hit, being the size he was. Even without the use of his ki, Dad hit hard. Hard enough to knock you on your ass and knock you out, if he wanted. It seemed impossible, given how little he was, how he could get so much power behind his shots. But that was talent. Dad was just bizarrely coordinated. He might not have weighed much, but what weight he had, he could get all of it into a single blow.

He's out of it now though, Trunks thinks, trying to move quickly but gently, his father lying nearly unconscious and limp in his hold, unaware probably of where he is or what's happening.

Trunks had been fearful Dad was pushing himself too hard, and here was the proof of it.

It doesn't take long to reach their beds, and Trunks is careful as he lays Dad down along the mattress, positioning his head carefully on the pillow.

Dad mumbles something, but Trunks can't make it out, and when he looks at his father, he thinks he isn't really talking to anyone.

He's in bad shape, and needs water, and so Trunks is quick to go fill a glass and bring it over, supporting the back of Dad's head and lifting it up as he brings the glass to his lips.

“Dad... Dad, you've got to drink this. You're dehydrated.”

At first there's no response, and Trunks feels a slight swell of panic. But as he tips the glass and the water hits Dad's lips, it seems to wake him somewhat, and a moment later he's gulping the liquid in earnest, reaching for the glass himself as he sits up slightly.

“Easy, easy, don't drink too fast...” Trunks tries, still supporting the back of Dad's head.

It's only a matter of seconds before the glass is drained, and whatever energy Dad had seemed to gain from it goes just as quickly, his body collapsing back down on the mattress, his eyes, at last, closing, apparently unconscious.

Trunks frowns down at him, chest tight with a sudden, intense sadness.

He doesn't understand why his father does this to himself. Why he pushes himself so hard, to the point of it becoming dangerous, even detrimental to his health. It was important to grow stronger, of course. It was important to try and be the best you could be, but... Not if it meant risking your life, Trunks doesn't think. Not if it meant hurting yourself.

He probably should set up an IV, he thinks. Maybe an oxygen mask too. 

Not for the first time, Trunks finds himself grateful that this place seemed to come equipped with everything necessary for any given situation. Obviously, even if only a full day had passed on the outside, it was the span of a year within, and a lot could happen in a year. That had plainly been thought of by whoever was responsible for the time chambers existence.

He'd found the medical supplies on their first day in here. Force of habit, really. 

Living in the desperate, uncertain world of his own time line, he'd learned quickly enough one had to account for any and all supplies available to them, to always expect the worst and to never let anything go to waste. You never knew when you were going to have to move, never knew for sure where your next meal was coming from, or if there would be enough water. It was survival, not living...

Out there on the field of battle, he'd picked up more than his fair share of knowledge in medical aid, and so it doesn't take him long to get the IV into Dad's arm, or set up the oxygen tank. He's careful as he slips it over Dad's nose and mouth, and grateful that his father is exhausted enough that he remains unconscious through it all. 

Trunks doesn't think he would likely react well to all of this. But more and more, he was beginning to understand that Vegeta was a man who unless you forced it would never accept anyone's help. 

Getting the mask in place and double checking the IV, Trunks does what he can to make Dad more comfortable, moving around the bed and removing his sneakers.

He pauses as he does so, staring at Dad's feet.

Even those are riddled with scars, mostly smaller, though there's a few that stretch long over the bridges of his feet, and along the arches and soles some that appear to be patterned like shrapnel, like Dad had been caught in an explosion or something. There's other patterns like that on the rest of his torso and legs too. But letting his eyes really wander over the mass of scarring which seems to cover every part of his father's body, it's easy for Trunks to recognize that most of it's been caused by vicious, personal attacks. Some of them are gnarled and uneven, thick, like someone had taken a sharp or blunt object and driven it deep, dragged it along to get it out... Others are plainly caused by a whip, and Trunks feels his eyes burn with abrupt tears, welling too quickly for him to stop them as they slip down over his cheeks, and he looks away.

Gods...

For a moment it feels like he can't breathe.

… What the hell had been done to his father?

“Your father's had a really hard life...” he hears Mom's voice in his head.

Abstractly, he'd known what she'd meant. Together with what Mom from his time line had said, about where his father had come from, about how he'd been enslaved by Frieza from the time he was a very young boy. Abstractly he'd known his father must have suffered through physical punishments of some kind, like most slaves...

Knowing something abstractly was different from having that reality in front of your eyes, to see and to feel.

These weren't just punishments. 

Trunks reaches up, wiping at his eyes, head shaking.

“I'm sorry Dad...” he says softly. “I'm so sorry.”

Dad doesn't hear him, passed out, his breaths at last coming more even and smooth.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

“Get his arms! Get his fucking arms!”

“I'm tryin'! The little fuckers squirming all over the place!”

Panic. Panic in his chest, heart pounding and deafening noise in his ears, and can't breathe... can't... throat closing up and can't breathe...

Had tried to run, when he saw Jeice coming at him. Ran straight into Burter, knocked him flat on his ass, and he'd been finished then. Caught and trapped and they'd been on him before he could even make it back to his feet...

Doesn't know what they're doing, what they're going to do to him, doesn't...

Feels his wrists caught in Burter's powerful hands. Twists with all his strength, panic exploding, vision going black with terror, and can't move now, can't get away.

“NO!” He screams, and sees Jeice smile down at him, sick smile, sick.

“Aww, I think he's actually scared.” He says. “Are ya scared little monkey?”

Bares his teeth. Growls. Tries to twist free and can't.

“Aww, don't be like that. We got a present for ya Vegetable boy. Even a dumb animal like you likes presents, right?”

“Let me GO! Let me go or I'll... I... I'll ff-fucking kill you, I'll f-fucking kk-kill you!”

Hears them laugh, sees Jeice's face splitting into a wide grin.

“Ya hear that Burter? He's gonna kill us if we don't let him go.”

“Ohh, I'm real scared.” Burter says behind, and blinding rage then, hate and rage and humiliation. Twits and pulls, teeth grinding together in hate. Hate... not strong enough to break free and hates himself. Eyes burn and can't... can't, oh gods...

“Hey monkey, just cool your shit. We got somethin' that's gonna make you feel real good.” Jeice again, and he's holding something. Some kind of pill. Some kind of drug, and no, no, no, can't... can't let them, can't let them do... No...

“Open up wide for me now little boy.” 

Clamps his teeth together harder, turns his head away. Has to break free, has to... has...

“Dumb little fuck, that ain't gonna work.” Jeice says, fingers clamping over his jaw, squeezing hard, twisting his head back.

Won't open. Won't open. Can't let them, can't let them... Heart beating loud in his ears, fear closing his throat and can't...

Feels Jeice pinch his fingers over his nose, and no air now, no air, can't breathe... can't... can't...

Tries to hold on. Has to... can't let them...

Can't breathe though, and pain, lungs burning up, like fire in his lungs.

Mouth comes open with a gasp, sucking desperately, eyes blind with tears, and he feels the pill hit the back of his throat, feels Jeice force his jaw back together, press his hand over his mouth.

“Swallow it. Swallow it you little cunt.” 

“Rub his throat.” Barter says, and can feel Jeice do it, feels himself swallow reflexively, feels the pill go down jagged and rough.

“There!” Jeice says, and suddenly he's free, feels their hands let him go and doesn't think. Had to get away... get away from them. Jumps to his feet.

Tries...

Only the world tilts sickeningly, limbs heavy and weak, feels like lead and can't...

Floor comes up to hit him in the face, head lolls over and can't move, can't... 

What was happening? What was wrong... wrong with him? What...?

“Shit works fast.” Hears someone say, only sounds like he's under water. Distant and echoing and...

“That guy we got it off of said it would. Said it was almost instantaneous.” 

“Well he wasn't lyin'.” 

“Better not have been, with what we paid for it.”

“So now what do we do with him?”

“Like we talked about. Here, get his clothes off.”

No... no, they... had to get away, had to, only...

Can't move. Body won't respond and can't... can't get up. Keeps trying and can't. Limbs feel like jelly, thoughts coming too slow...

Feels hands on him and can't move, can't get away...

“I like you better like this, Vegeta.” Someone says, but can't understand who. Voices distant and blurred. “Makes it a lot easier to fuck with you.”

“We'll have to get more of that shit. Think how much fun we could have!”

“Fuck yeah.”

Taking his...

Feels fingers in the waistband of his pants, feels them tugging.

Panic like drowning in his chest, squeezing his lungs, and no, no, no, no, no... Can't... can't... can't...

“Look at his little dick! And his little nipples!”

Laughter echoing like explosions in his ears, and someone's keening. Doesn't know who.

“Matches the rest of him, that's for sure! Damn, he's like some deformed freak. Why's he so fuckin' small when the rest of those monkey's are so big?”

“Hell if I know. He's always been a freak. He's been here somethin' like seven years and I don't think he's gotten any bigger.”

Fingers tugging and pulling, cooler air hits his skin, sound of material ripping.

“Here, lemme have that cape.”

More laughter, head spinning and doesn't... doesn't know where...

“Why do you even still wear this thing monkey?”

Red material in front of his eyes. Recognizes it. Recognizes...

“What, you think it makes you special? Like anyone here will actually think you're a prince?” 

Laughter clanging, banging inside his head.

“You ain't anybody's prince. You're nothing but a relic at this point. The last piece of shit of a dead race. Something someone stepped in and needs to wipe off their boot.”

Recognizes the red... recognizes... Father... Father gave that to him, gave him...

“Here, let me relieve of your royal burden, your highness.” 

Red material rips and tears. Hands ripping it in half. Ripping it to pieces.

“Don't forget this shit.”

“Oh yeah. And what the fucks this? This supposed to be some sort of royal crest? Like a coat of arms or some shit? You dumb fucking monkey's really thought you were special, didn't you? You really thought you were nobility or something?”

Jeice... It's Jeice, he thinks. Has his armor in his hands. Has... Father gave him that too, gave him... Still fit him, after all this time, still...

“Give me a fucking break.” 

Crushes it. Jeice crushes it in his hands. Crushes it to powder...

Tries to say no, tries... Tries to stop... only can't move, can't... can't... 

Something warm runs down his temples. Something wet and warm and can't...

“Alright chimp, come on. Get up.”

Hands on him again, grabbing under his arms. World tilts and spins and gonna be sick... gonna be...

“Can't even hold his head up. Man that shit really worked him over.”

“Good. It'll take him forever to make it back to his room, if he even can. Everyone'll see him.”

“Probably one of the other monkeys'll find him before he makes it all the way.”

“Fuck, I hope it's the one with that fuckin' stupid hair. He always gets real upset about the midget.”

World rushes up and feels himself lifted onto his feet. Knees give out and floor comes rushing back up. Gonna be... gonna be...

“Fuck! You fucking piece of trash! You see that? He almost hurled all over my boots!”

Explosion in his head. Vision whites out, screaming, ringing in his ears and pain, sharp, stabbing, stinging in his jaw.

“Stupid fuckin' monkey...”

“Just let him go. Little bitch can't even stand. He'll have to crawl back to his room.”

Hands let go and floor rushes up to hit him in the face.

“That's right Prince Vegeta, why don't you go crawling back to your subjects. On your hands and knees where you belong.”

No more hands on him. No one holding.

Laughing still, farther away, getting farther.

Lays there and can't move. Tries. Gone. Thinks they're gone and he can... 

Tries to move. Had to... had to get... had to get to...

Nappa... and Raditz, had to... had to get to...

Heavy... body feels so heavy, like... can't make his legs work right, can't... Won't do what he wants.

Had to... make it to...

Nappa... Raditz... 

Doesn't know how long he's been crawling. Hears voices around him. Laughing. Things hitting him. Other soldiers throwing things at him.

Doesn't know how long he's been crawling before he recognizes the door to their room. Feels like forever. Feels like he's been...

Lays there. Can't make himself go any farther. Lays there and mind drifts. Thinks about the cape Father had given him. Remembers Father's words, that day. Remembers...

“I want you to keep this cape with you always Vegeta. Remember, it is a symbol of your nobility, and of your strength. Those who see you adorned in the colors of our house, and who perceive our crest emblazoned on the breast of your armor will understand who you are, and show proper deference. It is a statement of your worth my son. Of your greatness...”

Lays there... mind drifts...

Destroyed it. Jeice destroyed...

Door comes open. Boots in front of him. Raditz' boots. Recognizes those. Recognizes...

Someone makes a strangled noise, and Raditz' face in front of him suddenly, twisted in despair. Strong, warm hands on him, lifting him up.

“No.” Thinks Raditz says. Can't focus. Can't... “No, Vegeta, Vegeta!”

World fades, black around the edges. And then he's gone...

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Wakes violent, gasp ripping from his throat, and doesn't know... doesn't know where... where he...

“Dad!” 

Hands on him and he lashes out, grabs hold, squeezes, squeezes with everything...

Sharp cry in his ears, pained cry and world comes back into focus. Sees the boy beside him, face twisted in pain, bent forward and hurting. Holding him. He's holding the boy. Holding him by the wrists and realizes... realizes he's...

Let's go and the boy falls back from him, chest heaving. Rubbing at his wrists. Bruising. They're bruising already. Didn't mean... thought... didn't mean to...

Stares. Doesn't remember... doesn't remember what happened, what...

More focus and there's something on his face. Reaches up, fingers brushing against hard plastic and just like that time... that time when he'd woken and Bulma and... 

Tears the mask away, fearful, uncertain what... Pressure in the crook of his elbow and looks down, sees the needle going in. Tears it out, fearful and angry and can't remember what had happened. Why was he...?

“Dad.”

Looks up, sees the boy nearer again, look of apprehension on his face now though. Look of fear. Used to that look. Used to it.

“... Where...” starts to say, voice comes out weak, thin. Throat dry. Hurts. Mouth dry. Can't swallow right...

Boy looks at him warily, frown on his face. 

“We're in the time chamber Dad. Remember? We're training to get stronger, so we can beat the androids.”

Remembers. Remembers now. Had to... had to get stronger so he could... so he could...

Doesn't remember what happened. Doesn't...

“You were training.” The boy goes on, another step nearer and can feel himself tense. Doesn't know why. Boy wasn't going to try and hurt him. Wasn't... “You pushed yourself too hard Dad and you fainted. You were severely dehydrated and your oxygen intake wasn't okay, so I... I hooked you up to an IV and put an oxygen mask on you so you could breathe better.”

Doesn't remember. Doesn't remember any of that.

“You've been out for a few hours.”

Blinks, stares at the boy. Wrists bruising. Black and blue and must have... must have almost broken them. Didn't mean... didn't mean to do that... didn't...

“Your wrists...” says dumbly, and the boy shakes his head.

“It's alright.”

Wasn't... wasn't alright. Lost... lost control again. Lost his mind. Attacked blindly like... like he'd done so many times already... like an animal... a dumb monkey...

Thinks of Bulma... thinks of how he'd broken her wrist and...

Thinks of Nappa and... and all the times he'd hurt Raditz and...

Turns away, hate burning in his gut. Hates himself, hates...

“Here, Dad, you... you should drink this.”

The boy's hands in view, holding a glass of water. Holding it out to him.

“I know you don't want the IV drip anymore, but you've got to stay hydrated, so... so you should drink this probably. And... and also I'll go make you something to eat since I don't think you've had anything since yesterday... Please take it Dad.”

Stares. Weird feeling in his chest. Tight and painful, and he reaches for the glass finally, taking it with trembling hands. Tries to hide... hopes the boy doesn't see that.

The boy smiles at him, and looks like Bulma. Same smile as Bulma, and he looks away, pain in his chest worst, brings the glass to his lips and realizes how thirsty... how thirsty... swallows in big gulps and the water is gone too fast...

“Here, I'll get you another one. Just sit tight. Would you like a turkey sandwich? I was gonna make a couple for both of us maybe.”

Trunks takes the glass out of his hands and can only stare at the boy. Voice won't work right. Can't get the words... can't get them out. Feels so stupid, like some stupid child and can't... Boy was so much smarter than him. Smart like his mother, probably. Felt dumb around him. Talked even less 'cause... 'cause he would know then, if he... if he talked, he would know how stupid he was and... 

Knows he looks stupid. Know it. Trunks asked a question and needed... he needed to answer. Aware suddenly of how tight his stomach feels, familiar pain of hunger low in his stomach. Voice won't work right, comes stammering out, and the boy must know how stupid he is.

“Y-yyes...” 

Boy smiles at him again, standing.

“Great! I'll be right back with the water, and the food should only take a few minutes to put together!”

Watches the boy turn, heading into the kitchen.

Doesn't understand... doesn't understand how the boy can be... how he is. Hears him, at night sometimes. Hears him crying out in his sleep. Knows that. Knows what that is, 'cause it happens to him too. Knows its bad dreams. Knows the boy's life has been difficult. Doesn't understand how he can be how he is then. How he can be so much like Bulma... 

Looks at him with kind eyes and can't... can't stand it, sometimes. Can't understand why. Should hate him. Everyone always... always hated... wanted to see him like a... a joke. Wanted to see him...

Can't stand it, sometimes, the two of them treating him like he... mattered...

Like he was better... better than he ever could... better...

Treating him like he was better than the worthless, dumb fucking animal he always would be...


	39. Chapter 39

Dad is quiet as he huddles over the book in his hands, staring intently, almost determinedly at the pages.

He stays seated on his bed, curled in tight, almost timid seeming, and Trunks is struck by the incongruity of the image.

Maybe it's how insubstantial the book looks in Dad's hands. Dad has big hands. Nearly twice as big as Trunks' own. Huge feet too. It would be almost comical, how objects tended to look bizarrely undersized in his hold, if not for the air of clumsy awkwardness it instead projected. Something about that only seemed to accentuate the loneliness which surrounded Vegeta. His awkwardness wasn't funny. It was sad. It somehow reminded you of how much he didn't belong.

Trunks tries not to stare at him, but it's hard. 

Dad did this almost every night. Took out the same book and read from it. At least, Trunks thinks Dad was reading. If he was, though, he was painfully slow at it, averaging maybe a page every ten minutes.

From watching this, it hadn't been difficult for Trunks to ascertain that Dad was maybe illiterate, or... at a very basic reading level, in any case. As if things weren't hard enough for him. 

It broke Trunks' heart, and more than a few times he'd nearly said something, wanting to help, only forcing himself to pull back at the last moment, fearful of what Dad's reaction would be.

Only Dad had been stuck on the same page now for the last fifteen minutes or so, and Trunks hasn't been able to help but notice. Like he can't help but notice the look of growing frustration across Dad's face. If Trunks had to guess, he would say there was some word, or maybe a group of words, which was giving him trouble.

He bites his lip, hesitating a moment, wondering if he should try saying something.

“... W-what are ya reading Dad?” He finally forces himself, hoping he isn't making a massive mistake.

He sees Dad start almost violently, and Trunks feels himself stiffen, realizing Dad must have gotten so lost in what he was doing, he'd forgotten he wasn't alone. He braces for an explosion of temper, only his father instead glances over at him, mouth tight, but otherwise no sign of anger on his face.

“... A book.” He answers after a long moment.

Trunks smiles weakly at him, a strained laugh slipping past his lips at Dad's literal answer.

“I know, I mean... what's the title of the book?” He tries, and then he sees it, a flash of anxiety pass over Dad's features before it's smothered in a look of annoyance.

“If you're so interested, why don't you read it yourself?” He snaps, tossing the book at Trunks.

Trunks catches it, feeling suddenly awful. He hadn't meant to upset him.

Glancing down at the cover of the book, it's one he doesn't know, but he can recognize it as a chapter book for young adults, and it's all he needs to confirm his earlier suspicions. He feels his heart sink at the confirmation, a bitter sensation seeming for an instant to close up his throat. 

Dad couldn't read, or... he could read only at a very basic level. He wonders if Mom knew. Probably. She'd probably given him this book as a starter. Only stuck in this place for several months now, Dad wasn't getting any help.

Trunks understands first hand how frustrating, even painful it is to try and learn something on your own, with no guidance. After Gohan had died, Trunks had still had so much to learn as far as technique went, and in his rage he'd turned Super Saiyan without really understanding how to control or use it. It had taken him years of studying on his own to develop even a little efficiency in the form, and still, he knows without Gohan's help, he'd never gotten to a point of perfecting it. Not even close.

He glances up at Dad and sees him turned away, arms crossed tight over his chest, face to the wall.

“... I can't read.” He says suddenly, voice almost too soft to hear.

Trunks sits, shock momentarily robbing of his voice. Had Dad just... admitted that he couldn't...?

Dad turns to look at him then, face hard with defiance, mouth twisted in a scowl.

“You knew that already.” He goes on in that same, quiet voice. “Don't be a fucking coward by trying to trick me into exposing myself. If you have something to say to me, you had better just say it. If you try to trick me again I'll beat the living shit out of you. Understand me boy?”

Trunks swallows, a knot of anxiety forming in his gut as he nods stiffly. He hadn't meant to...

Dad turns away again, staring ahead at seemingly nothing.

“Understand?!” He snaps again.

Trunks swallows once more, trying to force his voice back into action.

“Y-yes Sir. I understand, o-of course!”

For a long moment, the space between them again falls silent, and Trunks hesitates, fidgeting with the book in his hands. He glances up at Dad, seeing him still staring straight ahead, arms folded, holding almost impossibly still.

He can't believe Dad had just flat out admitted it. Though, he thinks, he was again making assumptions, and whatever Dad's lack of education, he was anything but stupid. Trunks knows that. 

Maybe... maybe since he'd just confessed to it, that meant he... maybe he wanted help. It was worth a shot. And Dad had just told him if he had something to say, he should just say it.

He hesitates a moment longer, before just forcing himself to speak.

“Do you want help?” He blurts. “I mean, if you wanted me to help you with your... your reading, I could... if you wanted, I mean...”

He braces himself as Dad doesn't move, doesn't say anything, and he thinks for a moment he's really stepped in it this time. He probably shouldn't have said anything at all. He should have...

“... Bulma is helping me.” Dad says suddenly, and Trunks' thoughts come to a halt, again shocked at his father's words, at his so readily admitting to something so... private. 

Dad glances at him again, as if searching for some sort of judgment in Trunks' expression, and Trunks can feel his heart sink. 

In truth, he felt surprise that his father would allow Mom to help him, as he'd come to learn over these months spent with him, Vegeta would rarely accept help of any kind unless you simply forced it on him. But then... his mom and dad had obviously formed some sort of bond. Something Trunks had found himself wondering endlessly about for a long time now. Wondering about how it was they'd gotten so close, how it was Dad had come to trust Mom like he did, when he didn't seem to trust anyone or anything.

He smiles at Dad now, the words falling from his lips before he has a chance to really think better of it.

“You and Mom are pretty close, huh?”

Dad's mouth comes open, holding suddenly still.

“... She's a fine woman.” He says after a long moment, and Trunks can't help but smile more broadly. His father was never very effusive in his words, but Trunks had begun to be able to read between the lines with him a little bit. If he said something nice about someone, even if it was seemingly reserved, it meant a lot.

He can't help his curiosity then. Mom back in his time line had never really spoken to him about how she and Dad had become an item, only ever making vague allusions to what might have happened.

“How... how did you and Mom get together? I mean, how did you and her...”

He can feel his cheeks flush slightly as he realizes what he's asking, and watching as his father stiffens visibly doesn't help.

For a long time Dad doesn't say anything, and Trunks waits, having begun to realize that sometimes it just took his father a long time to get his thoughts into words. 

“... She offered me shelter...” he finally starts, voice slow and measured. “... after I was brought back here... She... she let me live with her at her home...”

His father stops again, looking down at his hands, his thick, blunt fingers kneading into the material of his bed sheets.

He's silent, saying nothing else, seeming lost in memories.

Trunks barely hears it then. Father's voice whispering out, like whispering to the past.

“... She was kind to me.”

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

“Nappa! NAPPA!”

“What the fuck are you yellin' about Raditz?! I'm in the middle of... fuck...”

“Help me with him! Th-there's something wrong with him, gods... He can't move...”

Nappa at last comes lumbering out of the washroom, and Raditz feels no relief. Vegeta is as limp as a rag in his hold, his head lolling down onto his chest, like he has no strength to even hold it up, his limbs uselessly hanging, body without any tension. His mouth keeps moving, slurred, unintelligible words falling out, like he has no control of his vocal chords even, and Raditz thinks he's gonna be sick. What was wrong with him? Gods, what was...

He'd been headed out of their room to go pick some stuff up for their dinner tonight, their supplies running low, as seemingly always, and down to their last few credits. Vegeta had left earlier that morning to go and train, and Raditz had thought only briefly that he seemed to be taking longer to come back than usual. But Vegeta did that sometimes, more lately now than in the past. He'd been growing so much more distant, spending more time by himself, despite his and Nappa's warnings against it. He should have known. God damn it he should have...

“What happened?! What's wrong with him?!” Nappa snaps, freezing halfway across the room, seeing Vegeta is Raditz' arms.

“I don't know. I don't know. I found him outside the room. He can't fuckin' move. It's like he's sedated or something.” Raditz answers, and he can hear the panic creeping up in his voice. Doesn't matter. It doesn't fucking matter. 

Nappa strides closer, reaching out.

“Give him to me.” He says and Raditz knows better than to argue, handing Vegeta to him.

It's terrifying, how limp and helpless he is. Raditz has never seen Vegeta like this. Seen him get the shit beat out of him plenty, but never seen him without any motor control like this, never seen...

Nappa drops down to the floor, holding Vegeta in his lap, pulling his eyes open. His pupils are pin pricks, severely dilated, looking almost black with how blown the irises are. Nappa presses his fingers against the pulse point in his neck then, waiting, counting probably, Raditz thinks.

“Somebody gave him something.” He says after nearly a minute, Raditz feeling like he was gonna hyperventilate. “Some kinda drug or somethin'. His pulse is way slowed down.” He presses his palm to Vegeta's chest. “Heart too. Some kinda fuckin' downer or somethin'.”

Nappa looks up at Raditz, face tight with anger and concern. 

“Where are his clothes?” He asks. “Did you take them off?”

Raditz shakes his head, heart beating harder.

“No. I found him like this. I don't know if someone dropped him outside the door or what.”

Nappa doesn't reply, beginning to examine Vegeta, turning him over, looking over his body. 

There's no real signs of a beating. Just the usual bruising common to Vegeta at this point. The doctor said that was from malnourishment or something. Everything was from malnourishment, and fucking beatings, getting the shit kicked out of him almost every day by one of Frieza's fucking goons, or by Frieza himself. Doctor said Vegeta wasn't gonna grow much if this kept up. Said his bones were brittle, that the damage was probably already going to have lasting effects. He had joint pain which some day’s was almost crippling to him. He wasn't even twelve years old yet and he was so fucked up physically. Raditz doesn't understand how he continued to push through all of it, every day. How he continued to train as hard as he did. Twice as hard as him or Nappa ever did. Doesn't understand how he can contain and control the massive ki he has, being in so much pain all the time. Doesn't know how he even found the will sometimes to go on living...

But if there was one thing Raditz had known about Vegeta for a long time now, it was that he had a will stronger than anyone's. There was a reason he was their prince, a reason he was better than the rest of them. It wasn't just his power. Raditz had never known anyone as mentally strong as Vegeta was. It was unreal. It was fucking unreal. Only...

Shit like this kept happening. It just kept happening to him. Over and over. It never fucking stopped, and Raditz had begun to fear more and more lately that it never would. He doesn't know how much longer Vegeta can hold out like this. Doesn't know how much more of this he can take before it destroys him. This wasn't how it was supposed to be, god damn it. Vegeta was their prince, fuck, with his father dead, he was their king now. He was meant to be treated with deference, with the highest respect imaginable. He was meant to be leading their people, meant to be their guiding light, their force. Not... not fucking shit on every day, spit on and beat down and treated like fucking garbage. Treated like he didn't matter. Damn it... God damn it!

He turns away, his eyes burning, rage and hate twisting his guts. He wants to kill somebody. Anybody. Somebody had to pay for this. Somebody, fuck...

He hears Nappa shift behind him and turns, seeing him stand, holding Vegeta against his chest. 

He was so damned small. Raditz had been more than twice his height at the same age. Had outweighed him by four times as much. Vegeta had barely grown in the seven years they'd been here. 

“We can't afford the infirmary. We gotta try and get him to throw up.” Nappa says. “I don't think it's gonna help much, but it might a little. It's just gonna have to work itself through his system probably. And maybe a hot bath'll help him to sweat it out. Come on.”

Raditz follows him to the washroom, lifting his hand and biting down hard on his knuckles as he watches the older Saiyan sit down with Vegeta is front of the toilet, having to prop him up.

“Vegeta, little man, can you understand me?” Nappa starts.

Vegeta's mouth comes open, his half lidded eyes glazed, staring ahead unfocused.

“Nnnppa... Nnn... pp...” 

“It's alright little man. It's alright. We gotta... we gotta try and make you throw up whatever it is in your system. Alright? I'm gonna have to stick my fingers down your throat. Alright?”

“Iiii... Icccaa... Icca... tt...”

Raditz' eyes burn, his vision blurring with tears, and he turns, wiping angrily at them. He can't stand this. He can't anymore...

“It's alright little man. Don't try and talk. I know you can't. Just... this is gonna feel funny. Don't be scared. I'm just gonna make you throw up. Ready?”

It's horrible. Fucking horrible watching Nappa shove his thick fingers into Vegeta's mouth and down his throat. A thin whine escapes Vegeta, a convulsion working through him like he's panicking, and Nappa wraps an arm around his thin shoulders, resting his chin against the crown of his head, shushing him gently.

Another, hard convulsion, and Nappa pulls his fingers out, Vegeta vomiting into the bowl of the toilet a moment later.

Hardly anything comes out, just a clear, thin liquid, and Nappa tells him one more time.

He vomits again, more, thin liquid, and Vegeta's face is pale, beads of sweat streaming from his hair line, glazed eyes red as tears slip from them, down his cheeks. He starts to tremble in Nappa's hold, and Nappa pulls him against his chest, wrapping his arms around him.

“Good little man. That was good. We're done now. It's alright.”

Vomit hangs off Vegeta's lower lip, and he can't seem to stop shaking.

“Raditz, fill the tub will ya? Make sure it's hot, but not too much.”

Raditz is fast to comply. He needs to do something. He can't stand watching this. 

Nappa continues to hold Vegeta as the tub fills, picking him back up when he hears Raditz twist the faucet off and bringing him over, lowering him slowly into the water. He doesn't let him go, keeping his hands wrapped tight under his arms, Vegeta's head hanging forward.

“Raditz, try washin' his hair or somethin'. Maybe it'll help him relax.” Nappa says and Raditz nods, moving around to the other side, grabbing up the plastic cup they used as a rinser and kneeling down at Vegeta's back.

He tries to ignore how pronouncedly Vegeta's shoulder blades stick out as he gently pours water over his head, the way he can see every vertebra of his spine. Tries to ignore the horrible mass of scar tissue which has begun to build up along his back, which has begun to build up all over his entire body.

He can't though. Not really. Not anymore. It's too much. Too fucking much.

“He's gonna die like this.” He says aloud. 

Nappa's eyes cut up to him, pausing in his massage of Vegeta's limbs.

“He can still fuckin' hear you Raditz.” He hisses. “Shut the fuck up.”

Only Raditz can feel panic gripping him now, a surge of it coming up his throat, seeming to force his voice out even as his brain tells him Nappa is right, that Vegeta can hear him, that he needs to shut up.

“What's gonna happen if he dies?” He says, eyes stinging, filling again with tears, and he can't stop. He can't shut up. “What's gonna happen to us Nappa? He's the last... the last line of his family, he's... there's only three of us left and if he dies we're all fucked. That'll be the end of all of us. The whole Saiyan race. If he dies we're all fu-fucked, we're...”

Nappa moves so fast Raditz doesn't even see it, a moment later finding himself shoved hard against the washroom's back wall, Nappa glaring down at him with pure disdain.

“Shut your fucking face Raditz!” He hisses. “Just shut the fuck up! Vegeta ain't gonna die! He's stronger than that. He's stronger than all these fuckers. It don't matter what the fuck they do to him, he ain't gonna break. He's our fuckin' prince and he ain't gonna break!”

Panic recedes, Nappa's heated voice seeming to snap Raditz out of it, and he swallows hard, blinking, shaking his head.

Nappa was right. What the hell had he been thinking, losing it like that in front of Vegeta? As if Vegeta didn't have enough anxiety to deal with, as if he needed to hear how afraid Raditz was for him all the time. He shouldn't have opened his stupid fucking mouth. He should have...

A loud splash scatters his thoughts, he and Nappa turning their eyes away toward the tub, and like a surge of fire in his lungs, the panic takes hold of Raditz again as he sees Vegeta spassming in the water, his head sunk below the surface, unable to lift himself up.

Nappa reacts before he can, launching himself at the tub, and Raditz watches stunned and frozen as he grabs hold of Vegeta, tearing him up out of the water.

Vegeta chokes and gasps, water pouring out of his mouth onto the floor, Nappa holding him up, arm wrapped around his torso.

“It's alright... it's alright...” he tells Vegeta again and again, like a mantra, over and over, until Vegeta stops choking and coughing, no more water in his lungs, only left limp and trembling uncontrollably in Nappa's hold.

Only it isn't alright. None of this is alright. They can't take care of Vegeta. They can't help him. Can't protect him like they were meant to.

Vegeta was sick. He wasn't alright. Wasn't going to be alright if all of this kept up. Someone would kill him, eventually. Either purposefully or by accident, it didn't matter. Or he would die from neglect. From an accumulation of too much of this, of all of this...

And there was nothing any of them could do about it. If Vegeta was only given some kind of time to recover, to get well... if only the abuse wasn't constant like it was, he would grow strong enough to destroy all of these bastards. Raditz knows it. Nappa too. He had the ability, had the talent.

Only Frieza and his lackeys also knew. They also knew, and they would never... they would never let Vegeta grow that strong. It was the most twisted game, letting him live then like this. Dangling that hope in front of him, in front of all of them, only to always pull it out of their reach, only to torture them with it.

It would be better, Raditz sometimes thinks, if Vegeta would just die. He hates himself when he thinks things like that. He hates himself so much. 

Only watching Vegeta now, shaking and helpless and suffering... Gods, he was suffering so much...

Sometimes, Raditz thinks, it was the only mercy which could ever be allowed to him. The only release from this nightmare to just die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Again, all my thanks to all of you who continue to support me and enjoy my story! I promise the action is going to pick up again soon and Bulma is going to come back. In the mean time, hope you enjoyed the chapter and if you have a chance, let me know your thoughts!


	40. Chapter 40

“He's got a lotta talent, huh?”

Sees Nappa in his periphery again. Doesn't say anything. Doesn't want Trunks to see him talking to Nappa or Raditz. 

Was watching Trunks shadowbox.

Nappa's right though. He has talent. Not good technique though. Needed work on his technique.

“Why don't you help him with it?” Nappa again and can't help glancing at him this time, annoyed. “He'd be a lot better if you showed him some stuff.”

“... He doesn't want my help.” Says after a minute. Only knows that's probably not true. Kept asking when they first came here if they could spar. Had to keep telling the boy to fuck off before he finally stopped. Didn't want to spar. Hadn't sparred with anyone since Nappa and Raditz. Didn't want...

“You gotta have someone to go against to get better yourself anyway.” Raditz is there now. “That's one of the first things you learned, remember? How are ya gonna beat those androids if you don't get stronger?”

“Shut up. I'm thinking.” Snaps. Sees Raditz grin at him, like he used to, and closes his eyes.

“He's thinking.” Hears him whisper to Nappa and almost lashes out. Almost tries to hit him before remembering... Raditz isn't really there. Nappa too. Would be hitting air, and Trunks would see then.

True though. He was getting stronger, only... could only go so far by himself. Used to have Nappa and Raditz to train with. Couldn't really call the sessions with Zarbon or Dadoria training. Used to just beat his ass half dead. Hadn't had anyone in a long time now, to train with. And...

Boy has talent. Is good. Could get better if... Could tell Trunks wanted to get better. Guesses he must not have had anyone to train him either, back in his own time line. Said something about Kakarott's son having trained him. Only he had died too, and only had Bulma now... Like him, guesses. 

Would have to be able to kill the androids back in his own time line. Would have to do that himself. Him and Bulma wouldn't make it otherwise, probably. Probably they'd be killed and then...

Thought of it makes his throat constrict, heart beating too hard. Familiar fear, sick and bitter on his tongue and can't... can't stand that thought. Can't stand it.

Pushes himself up, moves toward the boy.

“Your defense needs work.” Says before reaching him. 

Trunks stops, startles like he hadn't known he was there, turning and looking at him with wide eyes. 

“D-Dad, uh... I...” starts to stammer.

“Defense is based on efficient movement. You waste too much energy moving around and still leave yourself wide open for certain shots. You've got good speed and reflexes, but you don't use them well. You're too stationary with your head and your footwork is sloppy.”

Boy blinks at him like he doesn't understand and has to quash the heat of agitation blooming in his chest.

“Listen.” Says, steps to the boy and reaches out, grabs hold of his arms, pulling them up into a defensive stance. Moves around him, kicks his legs apart. “Feet like this. Keep them evenly spaced and bent at the knees. Balance is everything. Your center of gravity needs to stay consistent.”

Boy lets him move him around without protest, shocked look still on his face, and wishes he would stop. Doesn't know what the big deal is...

“Start slow. I'm going to throw shots and you try to dodge or block them, first without moving your feet. We'll work on that later. Understand?” 

Trunks nods.

“Y-yeah, sure, I mean... sounds great!”

Wishes he wouldn't sound so happy about it. Doesn't know why he does. Was only doing this because... because a Saiyan should know better how to fight. Even a half-breed should know better. Was the only reason, and 'cause it was good to have someone to work off of. Would get stronger himself maybe, if he...

Throws a jab. Slow, even. Trunks moves his head, shot flies past him. Another jab, right hook, uppercut, knee to the gut. Boy barely reacts in time to that, drops his hands, sloppy, comes around and lays his shin against the boy's neck.

“Again.” He says, and Trunks doesn't complain, gets back into position. 

Goes on for a while like this. Boy keeps making mistakes, keeps getting hit, only learns from his mistakes too, has a good brain. 

Goes for a long time, moving into footwork, controlling space and distance. Trunks doesn't complain, even after a long time and can see the boy is tired but doesn't complain, and has to respect him for that. Doesn't take it easy on him. Wouldn't do him any good to do that. Remembers Nappa never really took it easy on him. Probably woulda' died, if he had. Wouldn't of been able to take the beatings from Zarbon and Frieza and... 

“That's good now.” Tells the boy after a few hours. “Go drink water. Go rest.”

Sweat pours off the boy's forehead, his long hair dark with it, eyes bright and determined. Breathes heavy and knows he's had it. 

“I can keep going.” Tells him, and Vegeta shakes his head.

“No. That's enough.”

The boy hesitates, looking at him with that worried look he got, and can feel himself scowl, mean words on his tongue.

“Will you come with me? I mean, you've been working just as hard, so...” Boy says and words die in his throat. “I like hanging out with you.” Boy goes on, grinning. Happy expression, and comes so easily to the boy. Wonders how that is. Wonders how he can be that way when...

Stares up at the boy and doesn't understand. Doesn't understand him at all. Doesn't understand why he would want to...

“Please Dad.” Says. “We don't have to talk or anything. But it would be good, just to sit and maybe have something to eat too. It's been a long day.”

Realizes then how hungry he is. Hadn't... hadn't eaten since that morning. Hated the feeling. Hated it. Familiar feeling, stomach tight and sick with hunger. Wonders how it was he'd ever gotten so used to it. So used to it he didn't even notice, finally. Didn't even notice the pain sometimes. 

“... Fine.” He answers, turns without waiting, striding back towards the alcove. Hears Trunks follow behind.

Sees Nappa and Raditz following at his side. Ignores them. Can't let Trunks see that.

“I can put some sandwiches together for us, if you want!” Boy says when they enter the kitchen. Watches him go to the ice box, start pulling things out without waiting for an answer. 

“Just like I used to do for ya, huh short stack?” Raditz says to him, and his gaze shifts to the floor, staring at it, hands squeezing to fists at his sides. Can't react. Had to remember that. Can't react or Trunks will find out.

Distracts himself, moving out of the kitchen into the bedroom. Pulls his armor off over his head, tosses it onto his cot. Peels the body suit down to his waist, finds a sleeveless top and a pair of shorts. Dresses quickly before moving back to the kitchen.

“Hey Dad! Here ya go!” Trunks already has the sandwich made, putting it on the table in the kitchen's center. “Here's some water too.” Sets a glass down with the sandwich. 

Stares at the boy, and wonders about him. Wonders what his life is like. Wonders who he is. Wonders if the Trunks of his time line will be the same...

“Everyone in your world is dead, except Bulma?” Blurts without thinking, immediately wishes he hadn't, eyes shifting away, fixing on the wall. Stupid. Shouldn't of said... shouldn't have asked that.

Boy doesn't say anything for a long time, and guesses he fucked that up. Fucked everything up, eventually. Shouldn't talk at all. Should just keep his stupid fucking mouth shut. Should...

“... Yeah. It's... it's just me and Mom now.” Boy starts suddenly, voice thin like he's trying not to cry. “The androids ki... they killed everyone else. Th-that's why I... why I have to get stronger, so I can p-protect Mom, and the rest of the people that are l-left.”

Hears the boy sniffle and knows he's crying. Teeth clench together, arms crossing over his chest. Keeps his gaze fixed on the wall. Wishes he hadn't asked. Wishes he hadn't said anything. Doesn't know what to say to the boy. 

“... I had...” starts, stops. Doesn't know what he's saying. Doesn't know why he thought to say it. 

Can feel the boy's eyes on him, waiting. Shouldn't of said anything.

“... I had a kind of... of family, before... before I came here.” Goes on and doesn't know why. Doesn't know why he's telling the boy this. “T-two other Saiyans...”

“Really?!” Trunks says, and sounds shocked. Sounds like he can't believe it. “Who... Who were they?”

“They...” starts, stops. Realizes... 

Realizes he hasn't really ever... Realizes no one's really ever asked him about... Nappa and Raditz... Not really. Bulma had... she'd talked to him some about... about them, that one night when... when he'd made such a fool of himself. When he'd stupidly confessed to her how he... how he saw them still, how they talked to him... But no one had ever asked about... them...

“... They were... were my subjects. My guardians...” voice trails off.

Wasn't right. Not really. They were those things, only... 

Remembers times, when he'd been with them, when he'd been with Nappa and Raditz and things had seemed... there'd been a warm feeling. Remembers laughing with them, feeling like around them he could... could always just be who he was and there wasn't... wasn't any other way he had to be. Didn't have to be scared. Didn't have to be wary or... Treated him like he mattered, remembers. They'd treated him like that. Like he would always be their prince even when... even when that idea had long since turned to an ironic joke.

Remembers feeling, sometimes, when it was just the three of them, together... remembers feeling like he belonged...

“... They were my...”

Only can't say it. Can't say it 'cause then...

He'd killed Nappa. He'd killed him when Nappa had... had begged him for... for help. Had begged him for his... his life. 

Had let Raditz come here on his own. Had let him knowing... knowing he was the weakest. Knowing that and... He'd thought he could handle it. Thought it would have been simple. Easy. Doesn't know... doesn't know why he'd even thought the three of them could defeat Frieza, even if Raditz had managed to convince... convince Kakarott to join him. Even then...

They'd relied on him. Trusted him to... trusted in his strength. Trusted that he could... could save them and instead he'd been the... the direct cause of both their deaths...

Failed them, like he failed everyone else...

“They were your friends?” The boy says, and feels his throat close up. Wishes he hadn't said that. Wishes the boy hadn't...

Can't answer, eyes sting and burn and turns his face away, body stiff. Can feel it shaking and has to hold still. Can't lose it here. Can't.

The boy doesn't say anything for a long while, and hopes he doesn't. Vegeta hopes he doesn't say anything else. Doesn't know why he even brought it up in the first place.

“... What... what happened to them?” Boy asks finally and teeth clench together hard. Can feel himself stiffen, fear and anger boiling in the pit of his stomach.

“They died.” He spits. Words tumble out without thought, voice harsh, thick.

Stupid way of putting it. Saying they died. Like it was just something that happened.

Killed them. He killed them. That's what happened to them.

“... I'm sorry.” Boy says, sounds so sad when he says it, and anger explodes white hot, surging up into his throat.

“What the fuck are you sorry about?” Spits, turning on the boy. “Death comes for all of us! That's something any Saiyan should know! If you don't then you're a fool!”

Shocked look on Trunks' face. Hurt look. Disappointed. Mouth comes open like he wants to say something, but nothing comes.

Shouldn't of said that, Vegeta thinks. He shouldn't have... Upset the boy again and hadn't meant... hadn't meant to...

Only fire in his brain and can't shut it up. Can't shut himself up.

Can't stand the look on the boy's face. Can't stand looking at him now. 

“Fuck this.” Hears himself growl, turns, begins to stride away.

“Dad, wait! Don't go! I'm sorry, I didn't mean...”

“Stop fucking apologizing!” Turns on Trunks, anger boiling over, vision going red. Has to calm... has to calm down before he...

Teeth come together hard, eyes clamping shut. Has to calm down. Has to.

“... Dad...”

“I fucking killed them!” 

Silence like dead weight between them then.

Doesn't know why he said that. Doesn't know why. Shouldn't have. Hadn't meant to say...

Looks up at the boy, sees his face pale and confused. Scared. Should be scared. Look he was used to. Way everyone looked at him. Way Nappa looked at him, in the end. 

“You...” boy says after a long time, voice thin and weak with fear. “... You killed them?”

Doesn't say anything. Doesn't know what to say. Nothing to say, really. 

“Why?” Boy blurts. Sounds upset. Sounds angry even. “Why would you kill them?”

Nappa and Raditz staring at him from behind the boy's back. Faces look angry too. Look disgusted.

“Why don't ya answer the kid Vegeta?” Nappa asks. “Why did you kill us?”

“Yeah Vegeta. All we ever did was keep your ass alive.” Raditz now.

Can't listen to this. Can't take it. Doesn't want... doesn't want to hear this now. Doesn't want to think about it.

Hands come up, burying in his hair, world spinning and vision red.

“Why Little man? Why'd you kill me?” Nappa, and voice sounds desperate and scared. Sad. 

Pleading question between them and won't shut up now. They won't shut up and can't take it. Can't stand it. 

Doesn't know the answer. Doesn't know why. Doesn't know. He'd...

He'd...

Some days when he'd hated Nappa and Raditz. Some days when... and their fault, he'd thought, some days. Because they'd needed so much for him to... needed so much for him to save them and couldn't, he couldn't, and wouldn't let him go, some days, wouldn't let him just... just...

Memory hits him in a wave, so powerful he thinks for a moment his feet have lost the floor.

Remembers suddenly. Hadn't remembered before, somehow. Hadn't remembered.

Fear like blood in his mouth, and awful, crushing confusion...

//

Bulma feels like she's going mad.

It doesn't seem possible, that it's been less than a full day still since this whole thing began. Not with everything that had happened...

Everyone... everyone had nearly been killed. Goku, Yamcha, Piccolo... Vegeta. Gods, she'd almost lost him. And now... now he was off with Trunks, training, Goku said, in the time chamber, intending to go back out there. Intending to fight again.

Only now it was worse. Now there was some other thing out there. Another android, different from the first ones. Something calling itself Cell. Worse, they said. Worse than the other three androids. More dangerous. More powerful.

Piccolo had gone off to fight it. He'd merged with Kami and had gone off alone to face it. Only Bulma knows, even having merged with Kami, he won't be enough. He won't be strong enough to win. Which meant that Vegeta and Trunks would... they would...

She looks down at Trunks, sleeping soundly in his crib, oblivious to the world around him, free of fear or worry.

It's so hard for her to picture him growing into the strong young man that had come here from the future. And yet she knows, logically, that they're the same person. Maybe from different time lines. But the same.

“Even without your father there, you grow up to be like him in so many ways.” She tells Trunks softly. And that was true. She saw so much of Vegeta in the grown Trunks. That same courage and determination. That same strength. And yet so much that was different too. Trunks was so much more open, so much more... okay. Bulma can't help but wonder, if Vegeta had been given a more normal childhood, or just a childhood not so filled with trauma, would he have been more like Trunks was?

There was a gentleness in Vegeta, buried deep down. One which she thinks he's likely only ever shown to her. But it was there in him, trapped, pressed down by decades worth of cruelty and abuse. 

If he hadn't suffered the way he had, she thinks maybe he would have been more like Trunks was. 

Something about that thought breaks her heart.

She wonders then how Trunks and Vegeta are getting along. 

Things hadn't exactly gotten off to a good start with them. And she knew from only too much experience how difficult Vegeta could be. It was so hard to break past his seemingly heartless exterior, and Vegeta did himself no favors in that department. It was his way of defending himself. She understood that. But she doesn't know if Trunks will. Though given what she'd seen of Trunks, he was just the most incredibly sweet, open minded boy. If anyone would be able to see past Vegeta's hard attitude, it would be him, she thinks.

Her eyes burn suddenly, a suffocating fear squeezing her throat as she thinks about the two of them going out there again to face those androids. She doesn't want them to. She doesn't want them to risk their lives again. Doesn't want any of her friends to either. 

Only she knows there isn't really a choice. If they don't fight these monsters, then their entire world would be destroyed. Everything would be lost. Only Goku and the other fighters stood any sort of chance against these androids. It was only...

Bulma hadn't really realized, leading up to this day, just how dangerous it would really be. She'd convinced herself, somehow, that with Goku, and Gohan, and Vegeta and everyone else that... that whatever the threat was, whatever the challenge, whatever the enemy, it wouldn't be a problem. Not really.

… It was when they'd all come back to her house, beaten and bruised and bloody... when she'd seen Vegeta wasn't with them... and for a moment, Gods, for a moment she'd thought the worst, it was then that she'd realized this wasn't a game. That they all could very easily lose their lives.

And all she could do was sit here and wait. She feels so fucking useless. Just like she'd felt back on Namek. 

For all her vaunted intelligence, it seemed to come to nothing in all these situations they were constantly faced with. 

If there were something she could do, something she could think of to put an end to all of this...

She doesn't understand why this is happening. Right when she's only just started a kind of family... 

“Oh Vegeta... Trunks...” she reaches down, cupping the crown of her son's head, her heart aching. “please... please be safe... Please come home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you to all my readers and supporters! You guys are awesome!


	41. CHapter 41

“Vegeta, come here.”

Looks up at big man, sees him staring at him. Weird look on his face. Been staring at him a long time, Vegeta knows. Could see him staring out of the corner of his eye for the past hour. Tried to ignore it. Didn't know what the fuck was wrong with Nappa. Didn't care. Kept busy with his shorted out scouter. Knew he had to fix it or he'd be in trouble. Didn't have time for Big man's weirdness. 

“I'm busy.” Tells him, eyes back on his scouter.

Nappa doesn't say anything for a long moment, and thinks that's it. He was in charge, after all. Doesn't matter that Nappa was the oldest. He was the prince, and that meant he was in charge.

Only Nappa says again after a while, voice stern, almost angry.

“Vegeta, come here.”

Stupid, the way Nappa can still make him feel like a child. The way his stomach knots all up when Nappa talks that way to him. Was twelve now. Wasn't a child anymore. Shouldn't feel this way anymore.

“I've gotta fix this. If Zarbon finds out it's not working, he's gonna beat the shit outta me.” Tells Nappa, ignoring Big man's unsettling gaze. Wishes he would stop looking at him like that. Doesn't know what his problem is.

“Now Vegeta.” Nappa says, and he's not joking. Heard that tone plenty and knows better than to keep ignoring him. Hates it. Hates that he's supposed to be unit leader but still has to listen to Nappa. Still has to do what he says.

Growls as he tosses his scouter aside, jumping off his bed and striding angrily across the room.

“What?!” Snaps at him, crosses his arms and glares at Big man. Wants him to know how pissed he is. 

“Come here.” Nappa tells him again, and doesn't understand what's going on. Doesn't know what the hell Nappa wants.

Huffs in agitation, moves closer, annoyed. Wishes Nappa would just say what he wants.

Big man reaches out suddenly, and always shocking, how fast Nappa is. Wouldn't think he could be that fast, with how big he is. Has his hands on Vegeta in a flash, pulling him up onto his lap, holding him hard. Reaches up, cupping his face in his huge, calloused palm. Hand moves up, combing into his hair. Sad look on his face. Eyes weird and bright.

“... The f-fuck are you doing?!” Vegeta hisses, reaching out, pressing his hands against Big man's chest. Nappa squeezing his arm too tight, painful now, touching his face. Wants him to let go. “Nappa, that... that h-hurts...” 

Big man staring at him with that weird look again. Like he's not really seeing him. Doesn't like it. Doesn't like the way he's looking at him. Face lined like he's in pain and doesn't understand... doesn't understand what...

“I'm sorry Vegeta.” He says, and doesn't understand. Doesn't understand what he's talking about.

“What are you...”

Something cold and hard clamps down on his wrist, tight. Some sort of metal band, and it's like a blow to his kidney, the sudden, crippling pain and he knows... knows somehow his ki is gone. Feels it cut off from him clean, just gone, gone... Feels like having no breath and...

Looks up at Nappa and doesn't understand what's happening.

“... Nappa...” 

“I'm sorry Vegeta.” He says.

All the warning he gets, and Nappa is lifting him up and then pushing him to the floor, starts to pin him down.

Panic explodes in his chest, terror, and doesn't know, doesn't understand...

Instinct kicks in. Attacked. He's being attacked. Reaches for his power. Had to get Nappa off him. Blast him off. Only nothing comes. Ki is gone. Power is gone. Nothing but his own, physical strength left and wasn't... wasn't enough. Wasn't as strong as Nappa. Couldn't... couldn't get him off with just his...

Twists as hard as he can, manages to slip free, somehow, rolls away from under Nappa, rolls up to his feet.

Panic in his chest still, breathing too hard, heart pounding, blood in his ears and can't... can't...

Stumbles back as Nappa raises up, and looks like a giant. Looks like a mountain to him.

Stumbles back, feet hit something behind him, loses his balance, falls.

Nappa moves towards him and heart hammers against his ribs, sickening horror.

“NAPPA STOP!” Screams, voice comes out thin and high and terrified. Only Nappa doesn't stop. Just keeps coming. Same look on his face still. Same, sad look. 

Lunges at him, massive hands reaching out. Rolls, barely avoids his grasp, jumps to his feet, legs weak, rubbery with fear and confusion.

The band... the band on his wrist. Was suppressing his ki, somehow. Had to... had to get it off, now, had to...

Reaches down, grabs at it, hot to the touch, tries to tear it free. Tries. Some kind of reinforced steel. Can't... can't get it free without his ki. Can't... can't...!

Looks up, Nappa coming at him again. Throat closing up with fear and doesn't know what this is. What's happening.

“Nappa, p-please, stop...” stumbles back again. “Wh-what are you doing?!”

Nappa shakes his head, keeps coming.

“I'm sorry Vegeta. It's better this way. It's better.”

Doesn't understand. Doesn't know what he's talking about.

“What's better?! Nappa! What are you...”

Lunges at him again, flips back, couldn't... couldn't let him get his hands on him, couldn't...

Feels his ankle caught in Nappa's powerful hold and the world spins in sickening circles, stomach flips, nauseous as he's swung through the air. Body hits hard against the floor, air rips from his lungs and can't breathe. Can't breathe.

Room spins above him and knows he's got to... he's got to...

Rams his foot upward into Nappa's stomach, gets enough force into it to knock him back. Scrambles up onto hands and knees, back up to his feet. 

Needed to get out of here, out of this room, needed to... to...

Nappa's on him again, throws a punch. Blocks it, barely. Power behind it pushes him back, mind on fire, white hot heat and the next punch breaks through his guard. Feels like he's been smashed in the face by a metal beam, hard, thick knuckles crushing against his nose, ears erupt in high pitched ringing and warmth of blood gushing out over his lips, down his chin. World spins again and knows he's going down.

Nappa moves with shocking speed and too late now. Last mistake. Tries to get up, head spins with dizziness and can't. Falls to his knees and Nappa is on him, pushing him onto his back, heavy knee sinking into his sternum, trapping his wrists in his giant hand, pinning his arms down above his head. 

Terrified. Never been more terrified. Doesn't understand. Doesn't know what's happening.

“Nappa, s-stop! I o-order you to stop!”

Tears in Nappa's eyes and never seen that. Never seen Nappa cry before. Scares him worse. Scares him. 

“My Prince... I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry.”

Giant, thick hand comes down, wraps round his throat, rough palm lying against it, heavy and Vegeta knows... knows what he's going to do. Vision goes black with fear then, suffocating dread.

“It's the only way Vegeta. Please forgive me. You're our prince. You've been humiliated enough. It's better this way. It's better.”

“Nappa please! Don't... don't do this, don't...! I d-don't wanna die! I don't...”

Only Nappa can't hear him. And he's so strong. Feels thick fingers closing tight, squeezing his throat and air is gone in an instant. Awful choking noise fills his ears and knows it's him. Knows he's being choked to death and...

Struggles desperately. Twists with everything he has, tugging uselessly to get his arms free, desperate pounding of his heels on the floor and isn't enough... isn't... can't break free and this is how it's going to end. This is what kills him. Nappa. Nappa, who was meant to be his protector and this is how he's going to die.

Stares up at Nappa with unblinking eyes, only can't really see him. Can't. Haze of fear in his vision and something warm slips down his temples, soaking into his hair. And thinks... thinks how much of a failure he's been. Was going to be killed by his own protector, because he'd failed so completely... failed all of them... every Saiyan... failed his entire race.

Deserves this then, he thinks. Deserves to die, probably. Had brought enough shame on his people. Enough...

Vision goes dark at the edges and can feel his body losing strength rapidly. Wouldn't be able to escape this then. Was going to die. 

Only thinks he's sorry for Raditz. 

Frieza would kill him, and Nappa too. Guesses maybe that would be a relief for Nappa. Maybe why he was doing this. Couldn't protect him like he'd been meant to and maybe... maybe...

Was going to...

Going...

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING!?”

Pressure on his throat is suddenly gone, air pulling into his lungs too fast, gasping and choking and doesn't know... doesn't know what's happened.

Loud crashing noise ringing in his ears and vision isn't working right, black spots floating across his eyes.

Sees large figures before him, fighting, and knows somewhere in the back of his mind it's Nappa and Raditz.

Raditz had come. Must have... must have pulled Nappa off him. Must have...

“He needs to die Raditz!” Hears Nappa scream. “He's been through enough! He's been through fucking enough!”

“What the... what the fuck are you talking about!? You were trying to kill him!?”

“It's better than him going through this shit every day! Every fuckin' day! I can't stand to watch it anymore! I can't fuckin' do it!”

“What the fuck is wrong with you!? He's our prince! We're meant to protect him!”

“AND WE CAN'T! WE CAN'T DO SHIT! HIS LIFE IS SHIT AND WE CAN'T DO A FUCKIN' THING ABOUT IT!”

“THAT'S NOT YOUR FUCKING DECISION TO MAKE NAPPA! WHAT ABOUT WHAT HE WANTS!?”

“HE'S A BOY! HE... HE DOESN'T KNOW WHAT HE WANTS... WH-WHAT HE NEEDS!”

“YOU'RE FUCKING INSANE! DID YOU FORGET YOUR OATH TO KING VEGETA!? YOUR DUTY TO YOUR KING AND PRINCE!? YOU WERE CHARGED WITH HIS PROTECTION! YOUR LIFE FOR HIS!”

“AND WHAT ABOUT HIS PRIDE?! WHAT ABOUT HIS SAIYAN HERITAGE?! HE'S LOSING THAT! E-EACH... EACH DAY MORE AND MORE! HE'S...”

Voice cuts off. Nappa's voice cuts off, breaks apart. Crying. He's crying. Dissolving into sobs and can't... can't understand... doesn't understand... any of this...

Rolls over, can't stop gasping, deep pain in his throat, panic still pounding in his chest, fear. Tried... tried to kill him... Nappa had...

Doesn't understand. Overwhelming urge to run, to get away. Get away from here... away from Nappa. Can't... Supposed to be safe... Nappa's supposed to be safe. Nappa and Raditz, supposed to...

“Vegeta!” 

Hands on his shoulders and panic explodes, surging up out of his throat. 

“NO! NO!”

Had to get away, get away from...

“Vegeta, it's alright! It's alright! It's me, I'm not... I'm not gonna hurt you, please...”

Doesn't hear... doesn't hear it, mind screaming, had to... had to...

“Vegeta, look at me! Look at me please! Please!”

Warm hand on his face, and voice suddenly cuts through the fire in his brain. Recognizes... recognizes Raditz' voice. Recognizes...

Looks up and Raditz is there. Right there, hand on his face. Other hand reaches for him and flinches away, heart beating too hard and...

Raditz' face crumples, eyes too bright. 

Sobbing in the room and knows it's Nappa. Sees him on the ground, face in his hands and he's sobbing. Never seen that. Never seen Nappa cry before and...

“... R-Rad... itz...” Tries to speak. Voice comes out a broken up whisper, throat aching. Crushed. Sounds crushed.

Raditz' bright eyes well, and watches tears slip free from them, down his cheeks. 

“Fuck...” His arms around Vegeta then, pulling him against his chest, holding him too tight, and panic churns sick in his gut again, can't breathe.

Struggles weak and pathetic is Raditz' hold.

Has no power, has no...

“Wait... wait Vegeta, we gotta... Let me get this off you...”

Raditz pulling back, holding his arm, looking at the hot band on his wrist. Watches Raditz reach up, forcing his fingers under it. Breaks it like it's nothing. Snaps it in two. 

Feels his ki surge back to the surface and like... like breaking the surface of water after drowning, like air filling his lungs again. Knees buckle with the relief of it, falls and Raditz catches him.

“It's alright... it's alright...” Keeps telling him and mind in a haze. Doesn't understand what's... what's happened, what's...

“Wh... what's... what's wrong with... with Nappa? Why is he... he crying?” 

Raditz looks at him. Funny look. Worried look.

“Vegeta, you don't...” starts, stops. Looks really worried. “He tried...”

Doesn't understand any of it, now. Doesn't understand what was happening. Nappa had... but he wouldn't... he wouldn't. Not really. Must have been... must have been some sort of... of test. Wouldn't really try to kill him.

A test. Must have been a test. Nappa always telling him how he... how he had to be prepared in case his ki wasn't available to him.

Only... only it had seemed so real. Had started to black out. Would have if... if Raditz hadn't...

“He was just t-testing me. He was just... Wasn't he? Wasn't he just testing me?” 

Looks at Raditz and doesn't understand the expression on his face. Looks so upset. Looks worried.

“Wasn't he?” Asks again, because... because that had to be it. Had to be.

“... Y-yeah Vegeta. Yeah, that's... that's what it was.” Raditz finally says. “He was just testing you. That's all.”

Relief then. Relief, and feels like he can... can breathe again.

Nappa wouldn't really try to hurt him. Wouldn't really try to kill him. 

He could trust Nappa, and Raditz...

He could trust them.

Nobody else.

Never could trust anybody else.

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

What he'd believed, then. Somehow. What he'd convinced himself of.

Only knows now that was a lie. 

Probably knew all along, deep down.

Nappa had tried to kill him. 

Hadn't remembered it. Hadn't remembered it like it really was. Had gone deep into his brain like some hazed dream, not a real memory. Hadn't remembered it the next day. The bruises on his throat the product of some overly severe sparring session, or maybe one of Frieza's men had attacked him again and he just couldn't remember. Happened sometimes. Sometimes got beaten so badly he couldn't remember, head hit too hard or something.

Nappa hadn't said anything. Raditz either. Didn't say anything, didn't tell him...

Why? Why had Nappa... Why would he when... when he'd always...

“Dad?”

Feels a hand on his shoulder, looks up. Sees the boy looking down at him, worried look on his face.

“Are you okay?” 

Can feel himself shaking, iron on his tongue. Feels weak. Feels like his legs are gonna give out. 

Nappa standing behind the boy. Raditz too. Looking at him. Nappa looking at him with dead eyes and can't... can't...

“... I n-need to sit down.” Says. Voice comes out trembling. Hates himself. Hates his weakness. 

Boy takes hold of his elbow, another arm round his shoulders and doesn't... doesn't have the strength to shove him off now. Just wants to sit. Just wants to...

Walks him over to the table in the kitchen, helps him down into the chair. Hands won't stop shaking. Clenches them together in his lap and feels ashamed. 

“Here, you should drink this.” Trunks holding a glass of water in front of him and doesn't want to reach for it. Doesn't want to show...

“It's okay Dad. I get the shakes sometimes too. It's okay.”

Face hot and humiliated and wishes he could be away from here. Wishes he could be alone and no one could see him. Didn't ever want anyone to see him like this. Especially his s...

Feels Trunks take hold of his hand, grip gentle, brings it up to the glass, helps him wrap his fingers around, helps him hold it steady.

Water burns down his throat. Tastes like fire. Knows what that is. Knows what fire tastes like. Smoke. Flashes of memory singed into his brain. Standing in the middle of a field of fire and smoke, a world burning around him. Lungs filling with it, smell of blood, field drenched in blood and screams echoing in his ears and...

“Dad? Can you look at me? I'm sorry. I'm sorry I got angry. I didn't... I don't have any right to. I just don't understand. Are you alright?”

Remembers faces. Horror in those faces, in those eyes. Looking back at him with terror and hate and he could see his own eyes looking at Frieza.

Remembers thinking then that he had become just like him. Just like Frieza. Remembers the shame he'd felt, the hate for himself before he'd crushed it down and made himself forget.

Never really gone though. Doesn't think it ever really will be.

And Nappa... Nappa looking at him over Trunks' shoulder. Eyes black and dead and feels sick. Gonna be sick, he thinks. 

Couldn't trust Nappa then. Thought he could. Thought... And Nappa had trusted him, but that was a lie too. Killed Nappa. Guesses maybe he killed him because he knew, someday, Nappa would do the same to him. Maybe. Someday. When there was no hope left for any of them. 

Been scared when he killed Nappa. Been so scared. Guesses maybe... maybe Nappa had been scared too, when he'd tried to kill him. Maybe he'd been scared of what would happen to him... To all of them. Maybe better to die... then to let that be.

… Only heart feels sick, heavy in his chest. 

Guesses he really had been alone, all those years.

Guesses he'd been a fool, to ever think anything else...

“... Dad?”

Feels a hand on his again. Looks up and sees the boy looking back, face sad.

Keeps forgetting he's there. Keeps forgetting.

“It's alright Dad.” He says.

Doesn't know what he means.

Doesn't know.

Hasn't ever known what that means.

All right.

Nothing ever had been. Nothing in his whole life...


	42. Chapter 42

There was something wrong with Dad, Trunks thinks.

Beyond all the obvious issues, anyway. 

Something had changed, after what Dad had told him, about the other Saiyans. After Dad had told him that he'd killed them.

Trunks couldn't figure out why. Couldn't understand why his father would kill the only two people left of his race, other than himself and Goku. He'd tried asking at first, but Dad had become suddenly so disoriented and shaky, like he'd been sick or something, and Trunks hadn't had the heart to push him on anything then.

Since that, his father had seemed, even more than usual, gloomy and depressed, and again more than a few times Trunks had caught him talking to himself.

Only that was what was bothering him now.

The times he'd caught Dad like that, it had seemed... it had seemed so much like he was talking to someone. Not just himself, but like there was someone there.

It worried Trunks, to say the least. He knew Dad was a little unstable, but if he was hallucinating, then that was something else entirely.

It was their last day here in this place. 

It was strange to think that only a single day had passed outside this room, out in the real world. It had felt like so long since he and his father had come here, just the two of them to rely on.

Trunks has no idea what it is they're going to be facing out there, what havoc and destruction the androids might have wrought. 

Both he and Dad had gotten incredibly stronger, and that left Trunks feeling more confident at least.

He doesn't want to tell Dad, Vegeta's pride being what it was, but...

His father constantly liked to boast that he was stronger. Particularly he seemed obsessed with being stronger than Goku, and when he spoke about his past at all, he always told Trunks that he had been the most powerful Saiyan born to their people in over a thousand years. He seemed confused and furious over how it was that Goku had attained a higher battle power than him. He said Goku was what would have been considered a low class warrior, a Saiyan with little to no potential. He said that was why Goku had been sent to Earth, because it was a planet inhabited by weaklings, a planet he could handle. 

The only thing which seemed to bring his father any relief, the only thing he seemed motivated towards, was getting stronger. It didn't take any sort of a genius to figure out that Dad's past had informed that. Wherever it was Dad had come from, strength had obviously been the defining factor. It was strength which kept you alive. Strength which gave you power.

And so Trunks doesn't have the heart to tell him that, from what he'd seen of his father's power, he wasn't even as strong as he himself was, let alone stronger than Goku.

It was horrible. Dad trained so hard. Harder than anyone Trunks had ever seen. Harder even than Gohan had trained. And he was so obviously, immensely talented as a fighter. But he couldn't seem to get over a certain plateau. Like there was a mental block there or something, holding him back.

He doesn't want to tell Dad that he thinks, of the two of them, he himself had grown the stronger. 

It had happened over the long stretches in which Trunks had had to train by himself. When he'd tapped into a power at first overwhelming to him. A strength which had far surpassed any that he had previously known.

At first he'd been overcome with excitement, and had thought to tell Dad right away of it, to show him. Only he'd quickly thought better of it a moment later, realizing how much it would likely hurt his father's pride, to again be outdone, outpaced, when already he was so distraught over Goku. Dad was mentally so unhealthy it seemed, and Trunks didn't think that kind of blow to his ego would do anything but make it worse. So he'd kept it a secret, and planned to continue doing so unless the situation became desperate enough for him to use his full strength.

He hopes it doesn't come to that. He hopes his father will be strong enough now to overcome the androids on his own. He wants his father to have that at least.

He hopes too, after all of this, assuming they all survived it, and he had to believe they would, he had to, he can speak to Mom about Dad, maybe figure out a way to really help.

He can't imagine how difficult it must be for her, living with Vegeta, dealing with whatever it was that was going on with him. He feels bad even thinking that. He feels bad for his father. But Mom must practically be raising baby Trunks by herself. He can't picture Dad actually being able to help. Not even that he didn't want to help, but that he couldn't. And he was such a mess, in a way, for Mom, it must have almost been akin to raising two children, though again the thought makes guilt churn in the pit of Trunks' gut.

The contrast was almost bizarre. For as strangely childlike and lost as Dad seemed, it was also nakedly apparent that he'd been exposed to the most brutal horrors of war; that he himself was a hardened and immensely experienced warrior of plainly great intellect, insight and talent.

It broke Trunks' heart, to think about what his father could have accomplished, if he'd been given a better, easier life.

Dad was in the bathroom now, getting ready for bed, Trunks having already prepared.

He can't seem to pull his eyes from the closed door, and he's been realizing, more and more lately, how worried he gets when he can't see Dad. When he can't see where he is, or what he's doing.

It's a relief then when the door finally comes open and Dad walks out, dressed as always in a loose fitting long sleeve and sweats.

And as always, he's quiet as he pulls the cover back from his cot, seeming to avoid eye contact with Trunks as he gets ready for bed.

It had surprised Trunks, how neat, really fastidious his father was. He always made his bed in the morning, always cleaned his dishes after using them, always ate his meals with an odd sort of fine etiquette. Another strange contrast with how violent and unstable he otherwise seemed.

For a few, long minutes, neither of them speaks, and Trunks after a time thinks about saying goodnight. Only his father beats him to it, starting to talk.

“You may accompany me tomorrow when I engage the androids.” He says softly, looking at his hands. “But you need to understand that it's me who will lead, not you. I have a great deal of experience in these sorts of things. Far more than you.” He pauses, finally glancing up at Trunks, before again looking away. “Things break down and start to go wrong when more than one person tries to take charge. You're a talented warrior, boy. But if you're planning on fighting beside me, I expect you to follow my orders. If you don't think you can do that, then you'll need to go it alone, as will I.”

Trunks can't help the pang of hurt he feels suddenly at his father's words, contrasted bizarrely with a feeling of pride at hearing his Dad call him a talented warrior. He had thought they had been building a good partnership over these last, several weeks, even a report of some sort in the way they fought together, which he had been fantasizing about utilizing against the androids. 

At the same time, he understands what his father means. Of course Vegeta was far more experienced than him, had seen countless more battles, no doubt, and it only made sense that he had been the one in charge during those battles, assuming he'd been fighting with a unit of other men, and so of course he would expect the same now. Only... he was Vegeta's son, and he had hoped... maybe his Dad would have a little more trust in him by now.

He clears his throat, giving a stiff nod.

“Of course. Yeah. I understand.” He stammers out.

Dad continues looking at him for a long moment, his eyes skeptical, and Trunks has to look away.

There was something so heavy in his father's gaze sometimes. Something terrifying. Like he'd come straight out of the worst kind of hell. Like he'd been forged by it.

“Tomorrow then.” Dad says, before turning over onto his side, putting is back to Trunks.

Trunks hesitates a few seconds, feeling like there's something else he should say maybe. Only he can't think what, and so he turns out the lights and lays down on his own side, the room falling into oppressive silence.

Tomorrow then.

What, he wonders, would tomorrow bring?

//

Kakarott is there. His brat son with him. Waiting. Couldn't wait to use that strange place to get even stronger. To get stronger than him and take all the glory of defeating the androids. Couldn't wait to make him look like nothing again. Like he was nothing.

Bulma's there too. Looks scared. Looks relieved to see him, and the boy. Comes to him, tries to touch him and can't allow that. Turns away from her, stiff, agitated. Sees the hurt look on her face and tries to ignore it.

Turns to the boy instead, hugs him. The boy hugs her back. Easy. Nothing. Feels his stomach drop and doesn't understand why. 

“Gods, look at your hair!” She cries, lifting her hand and taking the boys long strands between her fingers. “And you're taller too! I can't believe it!”

Boy was taller. Must of grown another inch. 

Not him. Stayed the same. Always stayed the same, no matter how strong her got. Always looking up at everybody.

“Yo, Vegeta! Wow, I can already feel how much stronger you've gotten! You're amazing!”

Kakarott's there in his face suddenly, stupid grin and shining eyes and can't stand it. Wants to shove him away. Wants to get away from him.

“I bet you're even stronger than me now, huh?!”

Patronizing fuck. Glares up at Kakarott, mouth twisting in hate.

“I am stronger than you.” Spits. Means it. Can feel his power level is higher now. Would beat Kakarott now, if they were to fight. Doesn't understand how Kakarott can seem so unbothered by it, unless he didn't realize, unless he really was just being patronizing.

Kakarott laughs, grin wider.

“I know!” He says, and sounds almost happy about it. Would think... would think it was pride he was hearing, if he didn't know any better.

Turns away. Doesn't want to look at Kakarott anymore. Doesn't want to hear his voice. 

“Vegeta,” 

Won't go away. Keeps standing there, voice suddenly serious. Irritating fucker. 

“There's someone new. Someone even stronger than the androids. His name is Cell.”

Feels his heart kick, sick in his chest, mouth suddenly dry. Doesn't understand, really. Thought... it was only supposed to be a day out here. Only a single day. How could somebody else have shown up? How could...

Glances up at Kakarott, feels his voice catch in his throat as he forces himself to talk.

“W-what? Who? What are you...?”

“He's already absorbed one of the androids into his body,” Kakarott goes on, seemingly unphased. “If he absorbs the other one, then he'll become incredibly stronger. Maybe too strong for any of us to defeat.”

Too many questions in his brain then. Too many, all getting caught up in his throat, tongue heavy and won't work right. Can only stand there and stare at the buffoon in front of him. Can't make himself talk.

Dread in the pit of his gut and hates himself for it. Hates his fear. Always like this his whole life. Always someone he couldn't... couldn't win against. Always someone who he... he...

“I made you guys suits.” 

Bulma's there again, handing out those strange little capsules she's always carrying around. Had been so curious about those, when he'd first seen them. Had asked so many questions about how they worked. How she'd figured out how to shrink anything down to such a small size and re-expand it afterward. Still didn't really understand. Bulma was too smart for him. 

“Here.”

Feels her soft hands take hold of his, pressing a capsule into his palm and curling his fingers over it.

Looks up at her, and she's standing so close. Wants to kiss her. Wants to put his arms around her and pull her against his body. Wants to just be with her. Doesn't want this. Doesn't want to leave, to go face... whoever this new thing is.

Her hand on his face suddenly and can't pull away. Everyone's looking, probably. Can't pull away.

“Be careful Vegeta. Please.” Her voice is desperate. Scared.

She pulls away from him and suddenly he feels so cold.

Teeth grind together as he forces himself not to reach out to her.

Sees her eyes too bright, wet with tears, and she turns away, walking from him. Watches after her, sees her arms come up around herself like she's cold too. Like she feels exposed.

Doesn't know what's gonna happen now. Doesn't know what this new being is. Doesn't know how strong he is.

Doesn't matter, thinks then. Doesn't matter how strong.

He was strong too. Now. He was strong too. Been fighting bastards his whole life he wasn't supposed to beat. Ended up beating most of them, in the end.

Wouldn't be any different this time. Would destroy whoever it was. Would destroy them, and maybe Bulma... maybe she'd be proud of him. Maybe the boy too. Wouldn't be Kakarott this time who did it. Would prove it was him who was a Saiyan elite, like he'd always been. Was more than that. Was the prince of the Saiyan people. Meant to restore his people to their place of power. Meant to save them.

Couldn't save them now, but maybe...

Maybe he could save Bulma, and Trunks. Maybe now that would be enough...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Hey guys! I'm so sorry for the long wait on this chapter and it's short length! Life's been busy lately and I haven't had as much time to write as usual. Hopefully I'll be able to pick up the pace again soon! Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the chapter anyway, and as always, thank you all so much for your support!


	43. Chapter 43

He's made a mistake.

Gods, he's...

Doesn't understand why this keeps happening. Only thinks the gods must hate him... truly hate him. Must truly hate the Saiyan people, if...

He thinks he must be dying, the pain is so much, and suddenly he can't breathe, the taste of copper thick on his tongue and his insides falling apart.

Knows that feeling. Bleeding inside, probably. From that last blow. 

Thinks he can hear the boy screaming, somewhere. Didn't this happen already?

Why? 

Was winning. Was winning easy and...

Had felt like all those times, when so many of the men of Planet 79 had been afraid of him, and he had mowed down so many opposing forces like a scythe through wheat. Had been so sure of his strength then.

Stupid, damnable pride.

Had thought...

Oh, had thought, was his one chance, and could prove at last... at last, he was stronger than Kakarott, was...

Was better. 

Thought of his father...

Would make him proud, Vegeta had thought. If in all else he had been a disappointment, in this, then...

In this he could...

And the boy too. The boy was watching and... 

Trunks thought he didn't know, about how strong he'd become.

He knew.

Had watched him and knew. Didn't want...

Didn't want to be a disappointment to him too. Knew the boy was waiting, for his sake. Knew he wanted to give him a chance. 

Boy didn't understand the limits of that form. Didn't understand how compromised he would be. Vegeta knew. Wouldn't be fast enough. Not nearly. Cell would... he would kill the boy. If he couldn't stop him now, Cell would kill...

Everyone...

Gods, please, couldn't...

World goes white and the sound of rushing fills his ears. Doesn't know where he is, for a moment. Surge of blood up from his throat and he's puking it out onto the dust packed ground then.

“DAD!” Hears the boy scream and can't...

“Idiot Saiyan.” Cell says somewhere above him. Feels the androids fist bury in his hair, tearing at his scalp, and the sun blinds him. Can't see. Only a shadow falling over his eyes to block the burning white, and feels his nose crush in, thick blood down his throat, bile bitter and hot as it dribbles from the corners of his mouth.

Losing...

Of course he's losing.

Trunks must think he's pathetic.

Feels his face hit the hard dirt, dust filling his mouth. Doesn't want it to end like this. Could have won if only he hadn't...

Felt so good, winning. Wanted... wanted so much to show everyone he wasn't weak, wasn't... Wanted Trunks and Bulma to know he wasn't... Wasn't second best. Wasn't...

Couldn't let it end like this. Couldn't.

Trunks and Bulma would... 

Cell would come for them, next, if he... if he couldn't...

Muscles burn like fire, nausea swirling thick in his gut, and he pushes himself up. Wouldn't give up. Not like this. Had to... had to do something. Had to win. Was his fault, now. Everything was his fault.

Doesn't know how he manages to dodge the next blow. How he manages to stay on his feet, gather enough of his ki to fly. 

Been working on this technique a long time. More powerful than his Galick Gun, even. Would take everything he had left to execute. He knows that. Knows if he misses, that's it. It's over.

Trunks thinks he'll be able to beat Cell. He won't though. Knows that too. Had to be him here, now. If he failed...

If he failed...

Damn him and his stupidity and pride.

Damn him to hell.

//

For a moment, Trunks thinks his father has actually done it.

Cell's entire right side is just... gone.

He doesn't know how Dad managed it. How he gathered such a massive amount of energy and was able to focus it onto so narrow a target. It's the most incredible thing Trunks has ever seen. The control it must have taken, the focus. Dad's talent was unreal, he thinks. For an instant, Trunks had been terrified his father would take out the entire planet, and he'd stood frozen in place, unable to think or move.

It had been the hardest thing he'd ever done before that, watching his father get beaten to within an inch of his life. He'd been ready to say to hell with Vegeta's pride, to jump in and do something. How Dad willed himself to his feet, his face a bloody mask, limbs trembling with exertion and exhaustion, that itself was beyond Trunks' understanding. How he then managed to take to the air and unleash such a massive attack, and to control it as he had, to aim it with such incredible accuracy...

Just unreal. 

That kind of will was unreal.

For a moment, he thinks it's worked, the shocked, horrified look on Cell's face crying victory.

Dad must think it's worked too, because he starts to laugh, and it's such a bizarre sound coming from him. Trunks doesn't think he's actually ever seen his father laugh. 

It's one of relief. Almost shocked relief, and he realizes Dad hadn't actually believed it would work. Not after everything. Not after taking such an awful beating, and seeing how absurdly powerful Cell was.

For a moment, Trunks feels his own relief, feels himself begin to smile.

It doesn't last long.

He knows his father's failed when he sees the horrified look dissolve from Cell's face, replaced in an instant by one of sick, malicious glee, his own laughter bubbling up, loud and mocking and cruel.

Dad's own mirth cuts short, and Trunks sees the color drain from his face as he realizes...

“You really are an idiot.” Cell says to his Dad, and that's all the warning any of them gets. The android is on Vegeta before he can even move, and Trunks can only watch in agonized fear as he breaks his father apart.

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Can't stand the quiet. Can't stand everyone just sitting around, with their stupid, sad faces, like they were actually ashamed of something. Doesn't know what anyone has to be so ashamed about.

Maybe him.

Only one who should be ashamed. Nappa was just doing what he was supposed to. Teach him. Train him. Was always telling him he couldn't always rely on his ki. Was his own fault he'd let his guard down like that. Doesn't know why Nappa won't look at him now. Wasn't like the big idiot had actually intended to kill him. Wasn't like that. Vegeta's sure.

Doesn't know why Raditz keeps looking over at Nappa like he doesn't trust him anymore. Keeps glancing at him like he thinks he's gonna do something. Body tense like he thinks he's gonna have to jump into action or something. 

Can't stand how nobody will say anything.

Slams his fists down on the table, and that makes everyone look up at him. Feels his heart slam with rage, face twisting in hate.

“What the fuck's wrong with everybody!?” He screams, and hates the way his voice breaks. Wishes he could just be grown up already. Wishes he didn't have to be stuck in this puny little body. Wishes he would get bigger. Wishes he could be stronger.

“Why the fuck are you two acting so weird?!” He snaps again, glaring at Nappa and Raditz. “You're fuckin' pissin' me off! Stop acting so weird!”

“Vegeta, calm down.” Raditz starts. Only makes him angrier.

Stands up on his chair. Hates having to look up at the two of them all the time. Doesn't understand why he can't be taller. Every Saiyan he ever knew, ever remembered, they were always tall. Why was he so fucking short!? Out of everyone, why was it him!?

“Don't fucking tell me what to do!” He growls at Raditz, lunges at the older boy before he can react, grabs him by the collar of his armor. “I'm your fucking prince! I'm in charge!”

Shoves Raditz away, turns to Nappa.

“Why won't you look at me Nappa?! What, you think I'm that weak!? I coulda' got away from you on my own! It's my own fault I lost my head for a minute! Stop acting so fucking guilty about it! You know I can kick your stupid ass anytime I want!”

Nappa only glances at him before looking away again.

Can't stand it. Can't stand any of it.

Was it always going to be like this now? Even with Nappa and Raditz? Had thought... had thought, even if nobody else in this hell hole respected him, even if... even if everyone else thought he was a... a joke, at least Nappa and Raditz didn't... at least they treated him like who he... who he had been meant to be...

Couldn't even have that now. Couldn't even have them look at him with respect now. Nobody would anymore.

Thinks about Father again. 

Can't think about Father anymore without remembering his face as angry and disappointed. Know Father would be disappointed in him. Could see it in Big man and Raditz. Couldn't even keep them impressed. Father would think he was a joke too. Would probably have told him he deserved all this, for being so weak...

Feels anger boil up in his chest, fast and shocking. Voice breaks past his teeth, a low, pathetic growl.

“Fuck you guys then!” Spits, turns and jumps down off the chair.

“Wait, Vegeta, w-where are you going!?” Hears Raditz call after him, as if he really gave a shit.

“None of you fucking business!” Answers back, marching towards the exit.

“Vegeta, wait, don't... it... let me at least go with you, it's...”

“I don't need your fucking protection Raditz!” Turns, glares at the older boy. “You're so fucking weak. Gods, it's pathetic.”

Sees it for a moment. Sees the hurt flash in Raditz' eyes. The embarrassment. For a moment wishes he hadn't said that. Hadn't really meant it. Raditz was his best friend. Could tell Raditz things he couldn't tell anybody, and Raditz always listened. Never made fun of him. Not really. Not when he told him things.

Should take it back. Should tell Raditz he hadn't meant that. Should...

Only no. Raditz already didn't respect him like he should. Or Nappa. Would only make him look weak too, if he said he was sorry.

Wasn't sorry. Raditz was weak. A fucking embarrassment to the Saiyan race. Fucking...

Feels his face twist in a sneer, ugly feelings ache in his chest.

“You're gonna get me killed someday Raditz.” He spits.

Sees the shocked hurt naked on Raditz' face a moment before forcing himself to turn, forcing himself out of their room, into the cold, dead silence of the hallway beyond.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

“You really are an idiot, Saiyan trash.” 

Vegeta can't move.

Dodoria's big, fat fist had seen to that when he'd sunk it into Vegeta's gut and dropped him to his knees.

He'd been doing alright, before that.

Between him and Zarbon, Dodoria was the weaker, and Vegeta had always had more success against him in their sparring sessions. 

Didn't mean he could beat the fucker though.

Made the mistake this time of actually landing a hard shot on the fat fuck's giant face, splitting his rubbery lip apart, blood spurting from it.

Hadn't had more than a second to admire his good work before Dodoria had lost his temper and put a blow to his solar plexus.

“We're done for the day.” Dodoria says. 

Can't answer back. Voice won't work. Can hardly breathe. Feels humiliated. Thinks he'd be used to it by now, but he wasn't. Doesn't think he'll ever be used to this feeling...

Dodoria doesn't wait for him to try and speak, leaving him there, the sound of the training room doors opening and closing.

Guesses he should be grateful Dodoria wasn't sadistic like Zarbon, didn't get the same pleasure out of torturing him. Finds it hard to be grateful for anything anymore though.

Spits on the floor and it's blood.

Feels his lips pull into a grim smile. Probably bleeding inside from the blow. Hopes he didn't have to go to medical again.

Takes too long for him to be able to get back to his feet. Feels stupid for it. Feels weak. Glad Nappa and Raditz weren't here to see it. 

Someday, he thinks...

Someday, he was going to kill that fat fuck.

Someday he was going to kill them all...

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

 

World comes rushing back in and the pain hits like his bones are snapping. Feels the scream catch up in his throat and forces it back down, sucks air in through his nose and taste of blood and bile thick on his tongue makes him feel like he's gonna puke.

Thinks he hears someone saying his name, but can't quite make it out. Can't really remember what... what happened. Been fighting Cell. Remembers that. Remembers thinking he'd killed the bastard, or at least... hurt him bad enough that he'd die from it, eventually. Remembers the awful relief of that. Thinking he'd...

Remembers Cell laughing and realizing then he hadn't... realizing he hadn't hurt him at all and...

Memory comes crashing in on him. 

Remembers the feeling of his bones cracking under the pressure. Cell's fists like iron, hitting him, over and over and remembers thinking... remembers thinking no, no, because Trunks... if he died then Trunks would be on his own... would try to take Cell on by himself and he wasn't strong enough. The boy didn't realize it. Boy didn't realize he wouldn't be fast enough for Cell's speed...

“Vegeta!”

Voice again and he blinks, sees the bald midget's face wash into view, standing over him and he's still alive, he realizes. Can't believe he's still alive. Thought for sure he'd be...

“Here, take this.” Bald midget tells him. Can't remember his name. Feels him force something past his lips and almost spits it back out, awful spike of fear seizing his insides, awful memories of not being able to move, and hands on him, taking his clothes off, laughing voices and...

“It's a senzu bean. It'll heal ya!” Midget says, and remembers suddenly. Been given one of those back on Namek. Couldn't believe it then. How all his injuries had just been gone. All his ki restored. 

Finds himself chewing without thinking after that. Just wanted the pain to go away.

“Woah, woah, hey, slow down there! You took a hell of a beating back there!” Midget tries to stop him. Can feel his ki flowing back into him already, feels the pain ebb away like it never existed and wishes he'd had these things back on Planet 79. Wishes he could have...

Pushes the midget off of him, gets to his feet. Trunks, he remembers. 

“What happened?” He snaps, glaring down at the strange little human. “Where's Cell?”

Midget looks terrified of him still. Doesn't have time for the fools fear.

“B-back there. Back on that island. Trunks told me to t-take you and go, get you help...”

Doesn't think. Stupid, idiot boy. Was going to get himself killed.

Was his fault. Shouldn't have let Cell transform. Trunks had tried to tell him. Had tried to stop him. Wouldn't listen. Damnable pride, wouldn't let him listen to reason. 

Takes to the air, ignores the midgets cries of protest.

“Where are you going!?”

“Back to Cell!” He growls. Doesn't care if the human follows or not. Doesn't need him either way.

Wasn't going to let Trunks die because of his own stupidity. Had to stop him, somehow. Had to try and make this right...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I'm am SO sorry for the massively long delay on this chapter. I'll try not to let it go that long again without an update. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and if you have a chance, leave a comment! Thank you again to everyone who supports this story!


	44. Chapter 44

She finds him out back, sitting alone.

He's hunched in on himself, like he's trying to hide away from the world, and Bulma feels her heart break.

She'd just finished talking with Goku and the others. They'd told her about Cell and his proposed tournament. 

Bulma still doesn't understand how Goku can be so calm. He seemed like he wasn't worried at all.

Somehow Gohan had achieved Super Saiyan while he and his father were in the time chamber. Bulma hadn't missed the look on Vegeta's face when he'd seen the boy walking around in that form, just holding it, conditioning his body towards supporting that kind of power, Goku had explained. 

Bulma knew Vegeta well enough by now to see when he was upset, even if no one else could. There'd been such raw hurt in his eyes for a moment, looking at Gohan, before abruptly he'd turned and left the room. Nobody had gone after him. Nobody had even asked about him, despite Krillin and Trunks explaining what had happened out there against Cell. Vegeta had nearly been killed, fighting him. Probably would have, had Krillin not given him a Senzu bean.

Trunks had been upset about his father. Krillin had seemed more frustrated than anything, and angry. Bulma couldn't really blame him, if what he said was true, about Vegeta letting Cell transform. 

Before that, he'd been batting Cell around like a child would a doll. Krillin and Trunks had been trying desperately to keep Cell away from Android 18, but Vegeta had intentionally allowed him to get a hold of her, and now he was more powerful than any of them. Bulma had, for a moment, felt her own, fuming anger towards Vegeta. Had thought about going after him and calling him out on his stupidity. Scolding him like an idiot child. She'd stopped herself though.

Vegeta didn't need that.

She had to keep reminding herself that he was a Saiyan. It was in a Saiyan's blood to want to fight. To want to constantly test themselves against the best opposition. Bulma knows, if Goku had been in the same position, he would have done exactly the same thing. It didn't make either of them stupid. It just made them what they were. Like any animal that can't help but follow it's instincts. Trunks and Gohan were half human. They didn't have that drive to fight the way their father's did. 

And anyway, looking at Vegeta now, Bulma can see plain as day he was judging himself enough for the both of them.

“It's my fault.” He says before she's even reached him fully, and she pauses, her throat closing up a moment. 

He sounds exhausted. Familiar, awful self-loathing lacing his voice.

She doesn't know what to say. In a way, it was Vegeta's fault, the position they were in now. But she knew, in the same way, he couldn't have really helped it. Being strong meant everything to him. It had defined everything in his life, from the time he was too young to even know what being strong meant. If he wasn't strong, he wasn't anything. That's what he thought.

“Well, maybe letting Cell transform wasn't the best idea...” she tries as she sits down beside him, trying to make her voice light, like she's joking. 

It doesn't work.

He looks away, and his body is coiled so tight she can see it vibrating with the tension. He reaches up and wipes at his face. He won't look back at her.

“... They told you what happened.” He says.

“... Yeah.” She answers. “Vegeta...”

“I could have beat him.” He cuts her off, wiping at his face again, at his eyes, and she knows he's trying not to cry. “I was beating him. And he kept... he kept telling me there was no way I could beat him if he was at full strength, and I... I thought... I didn't want to...”

His voice trails off, and she sees his face twist horribly a moment before he buries it in his hands, fingers digging into his hair and tearing at his scalp.

“I'm so fucking stupid.” He hisses, his voice muffled and shaky behind his palms. “I'm just a stupid fucking monkey, just like Frieza always said. Like all of them said. I'm so fucking stupid and useless and nothing. I'm fucking nothing!”

Bulma's eyes burn, tears welling too fast for her to stop them, slipping down her face.

She knew this was going to happen. God damn it, she knew. And still there had been nothing she could do to stop it.

“Vegeta, you're not nothing.” She tries, the effort sounding weak to her own ears, even as she means it completely.

He wasn't nothing. In so many ways, he was truly a remarkable, even a good man. Incredibly talented and intelligent. And she knew he cared about her, and about Trunks too, even if he wasn't very good at expressing it. She could see it in the way he looked at the two of them. In the way he was so gentle with both of them.

She just wishes she knew how to explain all that to him. She wishes she knew how to make him believe her when she did.

“Vegeta, Goku would have done the same thing...” she tries, placing her hand on his shoulder. She realizes again she's made a mistake when he stands abruptly, throwing her hand off of him and turning towards him with blinding speed.

“Kakarott would have beat him!” He cries, voice rising in so much naked agony it's like a knife straight to Bulma's chest. He reaches up, tearing again at his hair, face open with the torture of what he's feeling. “He would have beat him Bulma! He's better than me! His son is better than me! I'm fucking nothing! I've always been nothing! It's some kind of sick fucking joke that I was ever supposed to be the strongest born Saiyan in a thousand years. You would think... you would think a lifetime of fucking humiliation would have taught me that, but I'm so fucking stupid I couldn't... couldn't get it through my thick fucking skull! And now look at me! Everything's my fault! I fucking fail at everything! Everything I ever try to do, I fail! I'm fucking NOTHING!”

Bulma doesn't know what to say. Her mind screams at her to say something, but she doesn't know what. 

He's losing it.

She's heard him be hard on himself countless times, but there was something different about this. Something worse. He sounded like he hated himself. Really, truly hated himself.

She stands, not knowing what to do, not even knowing what she intends as she steps towards him. 

He backs away from her, almost like he's frightened of her, head shaking no.

“Don't...” he says, but she doesn't listen. 

She can't bear seeing him like this. Can't bear seeing him in so much pain. She fucking loves him, and she can't bear it.

“Don't...” he warns again, voice thick and desperate, and again she doesn't listen, closing what small space there is between them and throwing her arms around him, pulling him into a hug.

He stiffens in her hold, and Bulma holds on tighter, thinking he's going to try and pull away, only he doesn't. He's shaking with tension and maybe fear, and Bulma presses her lips to his cheek, and against his ear.

“I believe in you Vegeta.” She breathes out. “I believe in you.”

He doesn't say anything for a long time, doesn't move. Just stands there, letting her hold him. Until finally she feels him shift. He pushes himself up on his toes and leans down, pressing his lips to the crown of her head, kissing her there, before at last pulling out of her arms.

He looks at her, his face so sad.

He shakes his head.

“You shouldn't.” He says, hardly audible, and before Bulma can say anything, he takes to the air, gone in the blink of an eye.

//

“What's wrong little man?”

Feels his teeth grind together, heart kick hard in his chest.

Thought they were gone. Hadn't seen 'em since remembering. Thought they would leave him alone now.

Looks up from where he'd had his face against his knees, sees Nappa sitting in front of him.

Wants him to go. Go away. Go away for good.

“You look fucked up.” Nappa says.

Eyes slide away, staring off into the white empty expanse of this place. It's so quiet. Didn't tell Trunks he was going back in here. Didn't want the boy with him this time. Didn't want anyone with him now.

“You tried to kill me.” Tells big man. “I don't want you around.”

“You did kill me little man.” Nappa keeps talking. “'Sides, you know I was just tryin' to do the right thing. You were suffering and I couldn't stand it no more. It woulda' been a mercy killing and you know it.”

Knows that. Knows that was what Nappa had been doing. Didn't change the hurt he felt over it. Didn't stop him from thinking he'd been stupid all those years to trust him the way he had. 

Wonders what else he couldn't remember. Wonders what things he might.

Doesn't want to remember anything else. Doesn't want to remember anything about his life anymore...

“Aren't you gonna train?” Raditz says at his side. Clamps his eyes shut. 

Doesn't know what the point is.

Came back to this strange place 'cause didn't know what else to do. Wouldn't ever be stronger than Kakarott. Probably wouldn't ever be as strong as his boy even. The way they both had just walked around in Super Saiyan from... the kind of strength that would take... to maintain that kind of energy... Doesn't know what the point in training is anymore, if he... if he couldn't even... 

Wonders what'll happen if Kakarott can't beat Cell. They would all die. 

… Bulma and Trunks too...

Teeth grind together and eyes burn and hates, hates, hates himself. Was his fault. All of it. 

Thinks of Bulma and feels his throat close up. Thin whine slips past pressed lips and glad he's alone then. Can't stop it this time. Can't stop it. Bulma would die, and Trunks too and was his fucking fault. 'Cause he couldn't stand that Kakarott was better than him. Couldn't stand it and now Bulma and Trunks were gonna pay.

Whine breaks all out into stupid sobs, tears thick and hot down his face and wishes he was dead. Wishes he'd never been born. Gods, why... why was he ever even born?

“Look at this fuckin' shit.” Nappa says. Sounds disgusted. “Cryin' like a fuckin' baby. What the hell's wrong with you boy?”

“FF-FUCK OFF!” Screams back. Why won't they leave him alone? Why can't they just stay dead?

“Aww, is his royal highness sad about somethin'? Are his little feelings hurt?” Nappa keeps taunting and can't stand it. Feels like he's gonna puke. Heart beating too hard and can't breathe and knows it's another attack. Knows he's gonna panic and...

“Fuck off...” says again, voice weak and stupid like him. Turns away, pushes face against knees and wishes so much suddenly the real Nappa and Raditz were here. Wishes they were all still together. 

“You gotta train Vegeta. How are you gonna help beat that ugly son of a bitch if you don't?” Raditz says again. Doesn't answer. Was all in his head. Raditz wasn't really here so wouldn't matter either way. 

Was right though. Wouldn't be any use to anyone if he didn't... didn't do something. Had to at least try.

Had to at least...

“Hey Vegeta, you remember that time we were tryin' to fix Nappa's space pod and the fuel line blew up and drenched your whole head in oil!?” Raditz laughs, slapping his knee.

Remembers that. 

Remembers being angry at first. Went away fast though. Started laughing too, remembers.

“Yeah, I know. You loved the attention after, huh?” Raditz teases, and feels his mouth pull up at the corners. Can't help it. Remembers that too. Remembers that evening. One of those where everything, for a little while at least, seemed alright...

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

“I wish you guys would learn to fix your own damn pods.” Vegeta mutters out as Raditz drags the comb through his thick hair. Only there's no real anger in the words, he thinks, smiling faintly to himself as he gently tugs at a knot, trying to work it out without pulling on Vegeta's scalp.

“You know we aren't any good with that mechanical stuff Veggie.” Raditz says.

“... Whatever.” Vegeta mumbles, trying to sound annoyed. But he's starting to relax now, leaning back against Raditz' chest, between his knees. Raditz can hear his breathes beginning to even out, soft and low.

It's getting more and more rare, to see the prince like this. To see him any way other than anxious and stressed and frightened. 

More and more it was impossible for Raditz to even look at Vegeta without feeling his chest ache with pain and regret. Out of the three of them, Vegeta by far suffered the most. Because of who he was, and what he could potentially become. Frieza made it a point to target him. The mother fucker knew it was punishment enough for him and Nappa, to have to stand by and watch Vegeta tortured and humiliated and to not be able to do anything to stop it.

He knows it's not much then, in the face of all that, but Raditz does what little he can to make Vegeta's life a little better. Like washing and grooming him, cooking for him, giving him most of his share of their rations. 

Vegeta was a prince. He would now be king, if Planet Vegeta still existed. If their people still existed. He should have been living in luxury and power. Not like... how he was.

Raditz can still remember the palace of the royal family. How he'd walked through it's massive halls in awe of it's grandeur, the times he'd been allowed to accompany his own father there on his visits to the king.

He remembers his first glimpse of Prince Vegeta, sitting at his father's feet, playing along the mirrored finished floors of the throne room. He'd been disappointed, he recalls, looking at the boy. He'd heard so many story's from his own father about how the king's son had been born with a phenomenal power rating. The highest, they said, of any Saiyan in over a thousand years. And yet, Raditz remembers, the prince had been so tiny. Almost absurdly small. Raditz had had plenty of experience around children the same age as the prince, and he couldn't then recall a single one so little. They were all twice the size or more, even the girls! Even a child such as him had been able to see the boy was greatly undersized, and he couldn't reconcile at the time how such a puny looking boy could possibly be as powerful as they said he was.

Raditz also remembers how lost in his own world Vegeta had been. He's been so unaware of everything around him, consumed in his expensive looking toys and childish fantasies, chewing on the hem of his deep red cloak like a baby who was still teething. Raditz had watched him for long minutes while his father talked with the king, growing, as the time passed, more and more disillusioned with the great “hope of their people”, as the word had been circulating in the city. 

Vegeta had looked to him like nothing more than a scrawny, puny, ridiculous and not very intelligent baby, even though the boy was at that time nearly four years old.

Gods, but he'd been wrong.

Vegeta was everything the rumors had said he was. 

Raditz hadn't really understood that until he'd been assigned alongside Nappa to act as the boy's guardian and caretaker.

He's never witnessed the kind of talent Vegeta has. A genius ability to make vast strides in complex technique and power. The kid's brain was a steel trap, absorbing knowledge in mass quantity and retaining it like a computer. He picked up on things faster than anyone Raditz had ever seen. Could look at situations which seemed to everyone else like a chaotic, unsalvageable mess, and find the most imaginative and stream lined solutions. Even to someone who knew nothing about fighting, or power levels, or war strategy, about any of that stuff, all they had to do was watch Vegeta for a little while to understand the kind of potential he had.

Frieza understood it better than anyone. And he was doing everything in his power to make damn sure Vegeta never realized it. The prince was a useful tool to the tyrant, and that was the only reason why he allowed Vegeta and the rest of them to live. Because he maximized Frieza's profits through his efficiency and strategic brilliance. But Frieza wasn't stupid enough to ever allow Vegeta to grow so powerful that he might pose an actual threat. And in that particular goal, Raditz had never seen anyone so perfectly capable of its achievement. Frieza knew so well how to keep Vegeta where he wanted him. How to keep him beaten down, physically and mentally.

Raditz fears Vegeta no longer believed he would ever grow strong enough to overthrow Frieza. He so rarely spoke of it anymore. And when any of them brought it up, the prince had barely a word to say on it, always changing the subject, or saying nothing at all. 

A deep, exhausting resignation had set into Vegeta's whole character lately. He was at the end of what he could take.

They all were.

“... Sing me something?”

Raditz is pulled from his thoughts by the sound of Vegeta's sleepy voice, veiled and quiet. He's still so young. But he doesn't act like a child anymore. Been through too much shit. Seen too much. Raditz is surprised then when the request registers. 

Vegeta hadn't asked him to sing to him in a long time now.

“Alright.” He answers. “What do ya wanna hear?”

Long seconds pass without reply and for a moment Raditz thinks Vegeta's fallen asleep. But then he shifts a little, turning his face and nestling tighter against his chest. 

“... Anything.” He mutters. “One of our songs.” 

He means one of the Saiyan odes Raditz had used to sing to him when they were younger, most of them about his father, trying to help Vegeta fall asleep. 

Back when Vegeta had still believed his father was coming to rescue him someday.

“Alright.” He answers, trying to remember which of the odes had been Vegeta's favorite.

The other soldiers on base would shit all over them for this, Raditz thinks as he begins to sing quietly. They already went out of their way to laugh at them, calling them stupid names, talking down to them like they were dumb. Him and Nappa didn't give a shit. The both of them had long grown used to the sort of ribbing common among soldier barracks, back when they'd still been in the service of their king. But Vegeta hadn't been used to it at all. When he'd first been brought here, all he'd ever known before that was deference from others, respect and even fear. People had used to bow to him whenever he passed, lowered their eyes, knew never to speak to him until spoken to. Vegeta had, in a lot of ways, been pampered and sheltered, and because of that, he'd immediately taken badly to the laughter and cruelty of Frieza's men. It was something he'd never gotten used to. Where him and Nappa were able to brush the insults off without much thought, Vegeta still grew almost uncontrollably mad, his face turning red with rage, body trembling with it.

More than once him and Nappa had had to hold Vegeta back from killing the dumb bastards who dared insult him. Usually they were smart enough to do so only when they were in large groups, since Vegeta was stronger than almost all of them. They wouldn't have a chance against him on their own. And while Frieza might have forgiven Vegeta killing one or two useless men, if he'd started picking off large numbers of them simply for calling him a dumb monkey or laughing at his size, there would be hell to pay. Because that would mean a loss of revenue. The dumb fucks knew that. 

Only Vegeta didn't always think about things like that. He had a real tendency towards impulsive reactions, and the most wicked temper Raditz had ever seen. It was the only real way to get around the kid's superior power and skill. If you could wind him up tight enough, get him so enraged that he lost all sense of what he was doing, so that he stopped thinking, then you could get him. Even Raditz had had some success against Vegeta in their sparring sessions by using that tactic. It was weird, because Vegeta was so smart otherwise. He could see everything you were doing and knew just how to counter it. But if you knew how to piss him off, if you knew how to hurt his feelings, that was his greatest weakness. It was like he forgot everything he knew then, just flying at you blindly and recklessly. It was something Nappa in particular was trying to help Vegeta control. His temper. His sensitivity. It was hard though, because even suggesting to Vegeta that he was too sensitive would set him off, and he'd either get viciously mad or just shut down and fall into a depression, sometimes for days.

In a lot of ways, Vegeta's age still betrayed itself, despite his being forced to grow up so fast. He could be extremely bratty, childish even. Sometimes painfully needy.

It broke Raditz' heart, sometimes, the way he could always tell when Vegeta wanted to be treated like a kid. When he wanted someone to hold him and protect him. When he clearly wanted a parent. 

Like now. 

This place wasn't meant for children. It wouldn't tolerate a child's needs. It wouldn't tolerate most adult's needs.

Raditz at least had been old enough before he came here to the point it didn't really matter. He'd been almost of age, less than three years from fifteen, and already experienced on the fields of battle.

Vegeta though... he hadn't even yet turned five. 

He'd had no chance to be a child at all.

Only he was one, and times like these were awful reminders of it.

After a while Vegeta finally does fall asleep, his body growing lax and unsupported against Raditz.

“Is he sleeping?”

Raditz looks up to find Nappa standing there in the doorway, his massive frame filling up the whole of the empty space, and wonders how long he's been there.

“Yeah.” He answers quietly, glancing down at Vegeta, his face for once relaxed and young.

Nappa nods, the relief in his expression obvious.

“That's good.” He says, moving farther into the room. For a moment he says nothing else, looking down at Vegeta, his face openly concerned. Anxious even. “... We've got a mission for tomorrow. A tough one. That planet in sector 83. The one that's been holding out about a year now.” He finally goes on, glancing up at Raditz. “We're supposed to leave early in the morning. So it's good if he gets as much sleep as he can.” He pauses again, looking back to Vegeta. “Was he able to fix my pod?”

“Yeah.” Raditz nods, lifting Vegeta into his arms as he stands, resting him carefully against his shoulder. “I'll put him to bed.”

“It's gonna be bad out there.” Nappa says, following Raditz out into the main area of their quarters. “It's already a bloodbath. More than half of the forces Frieza's sent there have died.”

Raditz doesn't say anything as he lays Vegeta gently down on the mattress of his bed, covering him with the blanket before straightening and facing Nappa.

“At least it'll mean credits for us. We need supplies bad.” He tries, shrugging. 

“Yeah.” Nappa answers. “But it's gonna be bad. Frieza's expecting us to get the job done in two days. He won't pay us if we can't do it. And it'll be worse for Ve...” he stops, voice trailing off. But he doesn't need to finish. Raditz knows what he was gonna say. 

It'll be worse for Vegeta if they can't get the job done in time. It'll be Vegeta who gets blamed. Vegeta who'll have to bear the punishment, whatever it would be this time.

“We'll manage it.” Raditz says. “We have to.”

“Yeah.” Nappa says. Only he doesn't sound convinced.

Raditz can't really blame him.

It was getting harder and harder to believe anymore that anything would work out for any of them ever again.


	45. Chapter 45

“He went back in?!”

For a moment Trunks doesn't think he's heard Goku right. Only Goku nods, eyes sympathetic.

“By himself?” 

Again Goku nods, and Trunks can't help the pang of hurt he feels in his chest. He'd thought... after everything they'd gone through together in that room, his father would at least... 

But that was foolish. 

He'd spent enough time around Vegeta to know by now not to expect sentiment from him. No open displays of affection, or even friendliness. It wasn't that his father was truly unkind, it was just... he didn't know how to show those things. And after what had happened out there, against Cell...

Trunks would be lying if he said he hadn't been angry at Dad. He had been. He still was, to some extent. What he'd done against Cell, letting him absorb Android 18... even after everything Trunks had done to try and stop him, to warn him... There was no other word for it except stupid. And Trunks knows Dad isn't stupid. What possessed him to do what he did then, he'll never know. Not really. Pride, he guesses. Dad's pride was an awful, destructive thing, both to himself and to others. Gods, he'd been beating Cell handily, and then he just... like it wasn't good enough. He had to prove to himself he could beat the android at its best. 

Thinking about it, he can feel the anger coming back again. Tearing through his heart. Damn it, if Vegeta had just listened to him, none of this would be happening. If he hadn't been so selfish...

“He doesn't understand what it means to fight for anyone other than himself.” He spits aloud. He know he shouldn't say it, but he's so mad. “He doesn't know what it means to lose everything. If he did, he wouldn't have done what he did!”

He can't miss the look of hurt which passes through Mom's eyes, standing beside Goku, and he wishes for a moment he hadn't said anything. 

“Trunks...”

“It's true Mom!” He cuts her off, the anger getting the better of him now. “He's selfish, and stupid. He doesn't understand anything. Why would he let Cell transform when he could have ended all of this?! Why would he put all of our lives in danger like this? If he wasn't blind to everyone else, then...”

“That's not true.” 

It's Goku who says it, and Trunks pulls up short, taken aback.

He looks up at the other Saiyan, and is shocked by the look of almost anger on Goku's normally kind face. 

He glances at Mom and sees her surprise to mirror his own, looking at Goku with wide eyes.

Goku shakes his head.

“That's not true that Vegeta doesn't know what it means to lose everything. I think Vegeta understands loss more than any of us. It's not fair to say he doesn't understand.”

“Goku, are you serious?” Krillin starts, voice as shocked as Trunks thinks he looks. “Are we talkin' about the same guy here? You do remember Vegeta tried to destroy our whole planet, don't you? Or that he almost killed you? What about the stunt he just pulled with Cell? We wouldn't even be in this situation if he weren't so selfish!”

“That was selfish, sure.” Goku says, seemingly unfazed. “But I've done just as many selfish things. Like letting Vegeta get away the first time he came here. Remember? And you're all still friends with me. You guys don't know what it's like 'cause you ain't Saiyan. It's like needing food, or air, the need to test ourselves. To see how strong we can be. Vegeta couldn't of turned Cell's challenge down any more than I could of. I know I woulda' done the same thing. Doesn't mean I don't know what's at stake here. Or what it means to fight for someone else. Vegeta might not be too good at expressin' it, but he's fightin' for all of us too. He coulda' just left a long time ago if he wanted, but he didn't. All of us are the first real family he's ever had, I think.”

“You're crazy.” Krillin says, shaking his head. “Family? He doesn't even talk to any of us. I don't think he even knows my name! What he did out there was stupid as hell. He's selfish and dangerous.”

Trunks feels suddenly sick. He wishes he hadn't said anything. Wishes he hadn't started this. It was the last thing any of them needed. To be fighting like this. 

“You've got him wrong Krillin. It's easy to judge him, but we've all always had friends and family to care about us. We didn't grow up always fighting just to keep alive. It's hard to know how to act when all you've ever known is a life like that, where every day is a struggle to live.”

“He's right.” Bulma starts finally. “Goku's right. Trunks, I know you're angry, and scared, and you've got every right to be. And Krillin, I know Vegeta's never treated you like a good person should. But Goku's right. Vegeta doesn't mean to be like this. His whole life's been defined by this idea that he has of strength, of whether or not he was strong enough to survive. It's all he has to measure himself by, and without that... without that, he's got nothing. Please guys, don't... don't judge him too harshly. I know he messed up big time out there, but he... he's beating himself up about it enough for all of us now. If he was truly as selfish as you all say he is, he wouldn't care the way he does. I talked to him before he left and... if you'd have seen him, you would understand what I'm talking about. You would see how torn up he is over all of this.”

They were right, Trunks thinks. Both Mom and Goku. And shame abruptly takes hold of him at the realization, burning at his face. All those things he'd just said, about Dad not understanding loss, about not fighting for anyone but himself, that wasn't true. 

He'd just spent an entire year with Dad, just the two of them, and he'd seen well enough for himself the kind of trauma Dad was carrying around, the kind of demons. 

“You know, back on Namek, when I was fightin' Frieza...” Goku starts in. “It was Vegeta who came to me when I was losin'. He spoke to me. I don't know how. But he did. He told me to remember my Saiyan pride. To not give up. To not forget where I came from. If he hadn't shown up like that, when he did, I woulda' lost. I know I would of. I think Vegeta's been fightin' his whole life for someone else. I think he's been fightin' his whole life for his entire race of people. For his father, and his world. For all us Saiyans.”

Mom starts crying then, and Trunks feels even worse. She moves towards Goku, throwing her arms around him, hugging him almost desperately.

“Thank you Goku.” She says, pressing her face against his chest. “Gods, thank you for saying that.”

“I'm only tellin' the truth.” He tells her, hugging her back. “We gotta' stick together.”

“I agree with Dad and Bulma.” Gohan speaks up then. “There's no point in getting worked up about stuff that's already happened. We gotta' worry about Cell now and the tournament. Vegeta'll be there. I know he will. And he'll help us fight.”

“Geez, alright.” Krillin throws up his hands. “I guess you guys are right.”

“Yeah.” Trunks at last admits. “You are. I'm sorry I said what I did. I didn't mean it. I... I know Dad's lost a lot. I know that.”

Mom comes up to him, putting her arms around his waist, and Trunks hugs her back.

“I'm sorry.” He breathes quietly, and she shakes her head.

“It's alright.” She says. “It's gonna be alright Trunks.”

He hopes so. Gods, he really, truly does hope so.

… He doesn't think he could bear letting Mom down. Here, or back where he came from. Back in his own time...

//

“Yo, Vegeta!”

Goku sees the other Saiyan freeze as he's coming from the time chamber, body going visibly rigid as his eyes lift, meeting Goku's.

Goku smiles at him, and he doesn't miss the anger in Vegeta's eyes.

Goku knows how Vegeta feels about him. He isn't as stupid as some people believe. Knows why Vegeta feels that way too.

It was hard to accept, when you came up against someone stronger than you, and you couldn't beat 'em. 

Goku had experienced that plenty of times. But he was different than Vegeta. He didn't let it get to him the same way, he doesn't think. He didn't feel discouraged by it. All it ever did was make him want to train harder, get stronger. See how far he could reach. Vegeta though got sad about it. So sad, Goku thinks, that it actually kept him from reaching his real potential. Depression, he guesses it was called. Vegeta had depression. 

It was weird too, 'cause the first time they'd met, Goku had been in awe of Vegeta's strength and power. And especially of his ability as a fighter. He'd never met anyone like the other Saiyan. Never met anyone with that kind of skill. He still hadn't, really. Even though he'd fought a lot of guys stronger than Vegeta at this point, he hadn't fought anyone as talented. Frieza had just been pure power, but his technique had been sloppy. You could tell he'd never applied himself. Never trained. Just relied on the power of his ki 'cause he knew it was enough to beat most everyone. Same really with the androids. They were all pure power. 

The closest Goku thinks he'd come to facing someone like Vegeta had been Piccolo, 'least when it came to skill. But even then, Piccolo wasn't on the same level.

Vegeta was special. That was obvious. 

But Goku could tell, even though Vegeta talked a lot about being number one, he didn't really believe it. He didn't believe in himself at all, hardly, Goku doesn't think. He felt bad for Vegeta. He had all that talent, but he didn't know how to harness it. And he knew also it was because of the life he'd had. 

He'd felt genuinely angry when Trunks had said what he did about his father, about his not knowing about loss, or fighting only for himself. Though he couldn't be too angry at Trunks. Goku had thought the same things himself, when he'd first met Vegeta and fought against him. He'd felt hatred towards Vegeta even, until that day on Namek, when Frieza had shot a blast straight through Vegeta's chest.

Goku only got how wrong he'd been about the other Saiyan when he saw Vegeta cry. 

It had been like a sharp slap against his face, seeing those tears streaming down Vegeta's face, into the blood soaked dirt beneath him, begging him to kill Frieza. 

He'd only understood then the kind of life Vegeta must have had.

Only understood then that Vegeta hadn't been a free man at all. He'd been a slave. And seeing Frieza's cruelty that day, killing Vegeta the way he had, when Vegeta had been helpless, and the way he'd tortured Vegeta before that, Goku could easily imagine what life must have been like under the power of someone so sadistic.

Some of the things Bulma had shared with him since only confirmed what he already knew.

He couldn't hate Vegeta after that. And he couldn't believe he was heartless, or uncaring.

No one who bared their heart the way Vegeta did to him that day could be.

“Why are you here?” Vegeta snaps, stepping back, away from him as Goku steps nearer. 

Goku wishes he wouldn't be like that. He wasn't gonna hurt him.

“I wanted to come say hi!” Goku says honestly. “I know how lonely it can get in that place, and I thought you might like to see a familiar face when you got out!”

Vegeta looks at him funny a moment, like he doesn't understand what he's even saying. 

For a moment longer it looks like he might say something else, but then he just looks away, folding his arms over his chest.

“Tch. You're so weird.” 

Goku can't help but laugh. He's been called a lot worse than that. 

“I guess so.” He replies easily. “You're a lot stronger again, huh?” He asks.

He can see Vegeta's whole frame go tight again, his face turning down, jaw clenching.

“... Why do you even want to know?” He finally says, voice almost too quiet to hear, hissed between clenched teeth. 

That was a weird question, Goku thinks. Why wouldn't he want to know? 

“'Cause you're awesome man!” He answers. 

Vegeta turns at that, looking up at him with furious eyes.

“Don't fucking patronize me!” He snaps.

Goku blinks.

“What?” He asks, confused.

Vegeta moves fast, right in front of him in an instant, reaching up and grabbing hold of his jacket collar, pulling him down until they're face to face.

“Don't fucking patronize me.” He says again. “Don't you fucking laugh at me!”

Goku only feels more confused now, not understanding what he even did.

“I'm not laughing at you.” He says honestly. “Why are you so mad?”

Vegeta's face twists and he shoves Goku away from him, a low growl slipping from his throat as he turns and moves away again.

“I can't figure out if you're really this stupid or just pretending to be.” He mutters loud enough for Goku to hear. “Why are you bothering me? Shouldn't you be off with your son, getting ready?”

Goku shrugs.

“He's ready.” He answers. “I wanted to see how you're doing.”

Goku watches, taken aback, as Vegeta seems suddenly to collapse where he's standing, sinking down to the ground. He looks exhausted, pulling his knees up to his chest, lying his chin on them.

“Hey, are you alright? Ya feel sick or somethin'?” Goku asks, worried.

“I'm fine. Just go away.” Vegeta answers. 

He doesn't sound fine, Goku thinks. He sounds sad again.

He moves closer, lowering himself until he's sitting at Vegeta's side. Vegeta huffs, turning his face away.

“Don't you ever fucking listen?” He spits.

“Nah. Just ask Chichi.” Goku laughs. “You cuss too much, by the way.”

Vegeta turns back, looking up at him, that same, confused look on his face.

“What?” 

“You say too many bad words.” Goku repeats, grinning. “Chichi would slap you upside your head for it.”

Again Vegeta keeps staring up at him like he doesn't understand, before again looking away.

“Go fuck yourself.” He mumbles, and Goku laughs again.

It goes quiet between them for a little while then, Goku trying to think of something to say. 

He could tell Vegeta was hurtin', and he didn't want to just leave him here by himself if he could help it. Vegeta needed a friend, Goku thinks. He had Bulma, which was great, and their boy, which was also great. But Vegeta needed someone he could relate to also. Bulma was amazing, but she didn't understand about fighting, and Trunks was just a baby. 

He glances down at the other Saiyan, admiring him. 

Vegeta was like a perfect little man. A perfectly proportioned little body. He wasn't like Krillin, who was kind of dwarfish, with stubby legs and arms and a huge head. Everything about Vegeta was just right. He looked like a perfectly formed person who'd just been shrunken down.

Goku often found himself admiring Vegeta's frame, wondering what it must feel like to be that small and light on your feet. He could see it when he watched Vegeta move. The incredible grace and ease of it, almost like he was weightless. It must have been amazing.

“Quit staring at me.” He's shaken from his thoughts by the sound of Vegeta's voice. “Unless you want your teeth down your throat.”

That gives Goku an idea.

“Hey, ya know, we should train together!” He exclaims happily, already getting excited at the thought of it.

“What?!” Vegeta starts, looking back to him, leaning away. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“We should train together!” Goku repeats. “Think how much we could learn from each other! I can tell you know more 'bout different fighting styles than me. And I can help you hold your Super Saiyan form like me and Gohan, so you can get to that next level! What do ya think!?”

“I think you're crazy.” Vegeta says. “I don't need your help with anything. Whatever you can do, I'll figure out how to do it on my own.”

Goku frowns, feeling disappointed.

“... It doesn't hurt to ask for help once in a while Vegeta. I wouldn't be as strong as I am now if I didn't have people to help me.”

“And that's the difference between you and me Kakarott.” Vegeta hisses, angry sounding. “You need people's help. I've never needed anyone. I've always done everything on my own and I always will!”

Goku doesn't understand Vegeta at all here, he thinks.

“But why would you when you don't have to? It's so much more fun training with somebody!”

Vegeta stands suddenly, looming over Goku.

“Training isn't meant to be fun, you stupid fool!” He snarls, so vicious Goku finds himself leaning back. “And neither is battle! You fight because you have to, not because you want to! Only an idiot child would think otherwise! You... you think everything is some sort of game, and it isn't! How... how did someone like you ever... ever become so powerful!? How?! I don't understand... I don't...”

He turns, letting loose an anguished sounding howl.

“Oh, fucking... forget it. Damn all of you. Forget the whole thing. I shouldn't even fucking care. I should just... just forget the whole thing... How did I even get here? How did I...?”

Goku watches Vegeta for a long while, confused and a little worried. 

The other Saiyan was clearly talking to himself now, not Goku. He hoped Vegeta wasn't having another panic attack like that one time. He didn't think so though. But this was weird. Bulma had said Vegeta could act real funny sometimes. He guesses this is what she meant. Either way, something had happened to make him really irritated, which isn't what Goku had wanted at all.

He pushes himself up, stepping towards Vegeta.

“Yo, Vegeta, if ya want me to go I will. I just thought you might wanna talk before the tournament. Anyway, you should go see Bulma and Trunks. They're worried 'bout ya, ya know.”

Goku waits to see if Vegeta will say anything, but after a while he thinks he won't.

“Okay, well, see ya around Vegeta!” He says, and in a moment, he's gone.

//

Stupid Kakarott... 

Damn him. Why couldn't he just leave him alone? Kept tormenting him with his stupid face. Couldn't understand why he was so fucking happy all the time.

… Maybe 'cause he was so damned strong. Maybe 'cause he kept beating everyone he fought. Would make him happy too, guesses. 

… Wishes he'd been the one to kill Frieza. Wishes...

Doesn't know where Kakarott got off, asking to train with him. Would rather die first, then train with that fucker. Can't stand the sight of him even. Can't...

“It'd help you little man. You need feedback.” Nappa tells him.

“Like hell I do.” Snaps back. “Fuck off.”

“He's stronger than you though Vegeta. He could help you get stronger. Maybe strong enough to beat Cell even.” Raditz starts. 

Feels himself growl in frustration.

Shut up. Wants them to shut the fuck up.

“Besides, you're lonely. Admit it.” Nappa again. 

Turns, throws a punch at him. Goes straight through. Like punching the air.

Was punching air, has to remind himself. Nappa wasn't really there. Or Raditz. All in his head.

Wasn't lonely though. Fucking bullshit. Doesn't know why Nappa'd say that. Why... why he'd say it. Fucking stupid. Even if he was, wouldn't want Kakarott for company. Not ever. Hates Kakarott. Couldn't ever get along with that low class scum. Damn it. Damn...

“You got along with me alright.” Raditz says. “He's my brother, remember? So I guess that makes me low class scum too. But you didn't have a problem being around me.”

“That's different.” Spits, even as he knows it's not. “You were assigned to me. You were my subject. We weren't friends.”

Raditz smirks at him and wishes he could punch his face.

“Keep tellin' yourself that short stack.”

“You and him are the last pure blood Saiyans Vegeta. That's a bond man. Remember what I always told ya. Us Saiyans gotta stick together.”

“He hardly knows what he is!” Spits back, panicky feeling in his chest. Why won't they shut up? Leave him alone? Please, please, just wants to be left alone.

“He knows.” Raditz goes on. “You're alone Vegeta. There's no more of us left, except you and him. The rest of us are dead.”

Pulls at his hair. Pain feels good. Feels better than listening to this. Can't... doesn't want to hear it. Doesn't...

… want to be friends with Kakarott... doesn't want that... 

Stupid anyway, even thinking it could... thinking it could be...

Stupid...

Remembers when they'd found out Kakarott was still alive. Remembers Raditz. Been happy, remembers. Been excited. Him too. Thought... maybe... 

Hadn't believed there were any other Saiyans left and thought, if they could get Kakarott to join them, then maybe... maybe they could...

Been stupid. Thinking that. Thinking whatever it was he'd thought.

Never thought this was how it would end up. Doesn't know how he thought it would. With him dead, guesses. Always thought he'd die, eventually, under Frieza's power.

Guesses it was all the same, if they couldn't beat Cell. Guesses it would all end up the same.

… Except...

Doesn't want Bulma or Trunks to die. Thought of it makes him feel like he can't breathe right.

… It was different now, with... with Bulma. Woke up sometimes next to her and couldn't recognize the feeling he had. Woke up sometimes, still dark out. Heard her breathing, soft and low next to him, everything quiet, and felt... felt calm, like there... like there wasn't anything to worry about. Heart wasn't racing. Thoughts weren't all tangled up about what would happen... about... about what was gonna happen to him that day... to any of them... Just laid there listening to Bulma breathe and felt...

Felt...

… safe...

Doesn't want to lose Bulma. Doesn't want to lose this. Not this too. Doesn't want to lose waking up next to her in the dark, soft and warm next to him. Doesn't want to lose that feeling. Doesn't want...

Didn't ever think he'd have a life like this to lose...

Doesn't know then...

… Doesn't know if it would have been better to never know it at all...

… Then know it now... and lose it like everything else...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, all my thanks to all my readers and supporters! If you have a chance, let me know your thoughts! The whole period with Cell is going to be wrapping up soon here in the story, and we'll be getting back into more of the relationship between Vegeta and Bulma!


	46. Chapter 46

“You're going to let that monster take him... It would be better to end his life Vegeta.”

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Vague memory in his brain. Only one, really, of his mother. Screaming at his father. Remembers this. Remembers he'd been hiding, watching. Remembers the feel of his heart beating too hard. 

… Remembers being afraid.

Never really felt that, before then. 

Never really knew what fear was at all...

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

“I have no choice! You know what he is. He'll destroy this entire planet if I don't do as he tells me.”

“He'll destroy it anyway, oh, you foolish man!”

Mama turns away from Papa, burying her face in her hands, and Vegeta feels his eyes burn.

He doesn't understand what's going on. 

He's never seen Mama and Papa fight like this before. He doesn't like it. He wishes they would stop. 

Long seconds pass without them speaking, and finally Mama lifts her face from her hands, turning back around. She walks to Papa, reaching out, grasping hold of his hands, and not for the first time, Vegeta wonders at how small his mother is, especially compared to Papa. Her hands disappear into his, the top of her head not even reaching the bottom of his chest. Papa tells him she's the strongest Saiyan he's ever known. Stronger than any man, and Vegeta wonders how that can be, when she looks so small. 

“Vegeta, please...” she shakes her head, tears in her eyes, slipping down her cheeks as she looks up at him. “what do you think will happen to him? If you let Frieza take him, what do you think will become of our boy?”

For a moment, Papa's face is full of pain, twisting up like Vegeta's never seen. Like he's about to cry, and he feels his own throat close up, eyes burning harder. He doesn't like this. He doesn't understand what's going on. What they're talking about. Why they're so upset.

Papa looks away from Mama, his head shaking, not moving.

“Vegeta...”

“Don't...” he says, his voice trembling. “You think I don't know? You think...”

“If you know, then do not do this husband. You cannot cast our son such a fate, please.”

Again Papa shakes his head, and tears stand as clearly in his eyes then as in Mama's, and Vegeta feels his own tears well up suddenly, and he bites down hard on his knuckle to keep quiet.

“I need time.” Papa says. “I need to buy us time. We can't just attack Frieza. He's far too powerful. To do so would be naught but suicide.”

“And so you would instead forfeit our son's life!” Mama snaps, voice snarling and angry, and Vegeta flinches back from the sound. He's never heard Mama sound like that before. “Is he worth so little to you?! Do you not understand? Even if Frieza does not kill him, he will so destroy everything he is that he might as well! It would be kinder to end his life then subject him to that monster's sadistic cruelty!”

“And is that then what you suggest!?” Papa snaps back, voice just as vicious. “Do you suggest we kill our own son!? Well then, if that be your decree, by all means have at him Lady! I leave the deed to you!”

What were they talking about? What did they mean kill their own son? Did they mean him? Or... or Tarble? Why would they want to kill either of them? Vegeta doesn't understand, and his mouth feels dry with fear, hands wet inside his gloves. 

Maybe they were just playing a game? Or... or maybe it was a test of some kind. They... they probably knew he was there and were just testing him, to see if he'd let his fear get the better of him and force him to reveal himself. That must have been it. 

Only he can't stop the sick feeling inside his belly now. The taste of puke at the back of his throat. He can't stop himself from shaking, or the hot, thick tears stinging his eyes.

Mama steps back, her anger seeming to vanish, face lined in what looked like pain.

“... You can be so cruel Vegeta.” She says, voice hardly audible.

“I only suggest what you yourself did. Only to show you the folly of it.” Papa answers, voice again calm, controlled, like Vegeta was used to. “I know you could harm our son no more than I could. It is no option for us.”

“Then why can we not take him away?” Mama starts, voice pleading now, desperate, and Vegeta isn't used to that sound from her either. It makes him feel worse somehow. Makes him want to cry harder. “I could take him far from here. Him and Tarble. Someplace Frieza will never find us.”

“Frieza cares nothing for Tarble.” Papa answers, looking away, strong arms folding across his broad chest. “Tarble poses no threat. But if you take Vegeta, there is no place in the universe you can go, no place you can hide, where he will not find you and hunt you down. He knows the boy's potential. That is why he wants him.”

“And do you think Vegeta will ever achieve the strength of a Super Saiyan if we let Freiza have him? The bastard will do everything in his power to make certain it never happens.” Mama shoots back.

“If we allow Frieza to keep him, then of course not.” Papa replies calmly. “But we won't allow that. As soon as I've built up enough strength, and our soldiers are prepared, then...”

“You underestimate Frieza's power now.” Mama talks over him. “Vegeta, damn it all! Don't you understand!? If you allow Frieza to take our son, then you will never see him again! Nor will I! He will be gone to us forever! And his life will be reduced to nothing!”

“You try my patience wife!” Papa's voice raises loudly, and again Vegeta flinches back, dizzy and lost and he doesn't understand any of this. He wants them to stop fighting. He wants them to stop. “My decision is final! I will hear no more arguments from you!”

Mama only looks back at Papa then, fresh tears streaming down her face. 

She shakes her head, bringing a hand to her lips, a harsh, stifled sob breaking out against it.

“Then you condemn our son to living hell, Vegeta.” She says, voice drained of all energy, broken and weak. “You condemn him to hell.”

…

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Wonders, for the briefest flash, if his father ever cared for him at all.

Doesn't know... doesn't know if he could have... if he... could have... 

Watching Trunks' chest explode. Blood. Blood everywhere. Hot, stinking blood soaking the dirt beneath. Pouring from his gasping mouth. And never... never felt this kind of fear. Never felt it, oh Gods... Gods... no...

Didn't understand, until now. Didn't understand... and Trunks is dying, and didn't understand how much... how much he... meant... meant everything. Meant everything to him and thinks no, couldn't... couldn't ever do that to his boy... couldn't ever do to his boy what his own father did to him. Couldn't ever let him go. Couldn't ever let go like that, knowing... knowing what...

Sees Trunks on the ground... Sees Trunks lying in the dirt, blood... so much blood everywhere, eyes wide with shock and pain and... and...

Remembers...

Remembers what it felt like...

Impact inside his chest like his heart exploding. Pain so bad... wasn't even like pain... wasn't... like something else... taste of blood inside his mouth, pouring down his throat and fear... awful fear, like... blackness round the edges of his eyes and going blind and... couldn't move... wanted so bad to move and couldn't and... 

Saw Kakarott standing there, looking down at him, face twisted in horror and despair and wondered if... wondered if he looked the same. 

Failure...

He was a failure and it was too late then. Been too late... too late for anything and...

Horrible feeling... doesn't want... doesn't want Trunks to feel that. Doesn't want his boy to be alone like that... alone and scared and... no, no, no, this wasn't...

Kakarott gone too. Kakarott dead and Trunks dead and alone... was alone again... 

Doesn't want either of them to die. Doesn't want... Gods, please... please

I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I'm sorry...

Sorry for everything... sorry for being what he is... sorry for everything he's done... everything... everything... failed everyone he ever... ever...

Red haze like fire in his eyes. Rage, rage, rage... !

Rage like hate for his father. Left him alone... left him alone with Frieza to die... left him alone to lose himself... lose every part of himself... left him...

Left Trunks there to die alone in the dirt and blood and rage like hate for himself. Hate for the whole universe... 

Death... smell of death always there... always... could never get away from it... never get away... rotting dead flesh and copper and waste and piss and shit and... 

Whole life nothing but death and failure and Trunks... Trunks... his boy... his son...

Gods...

Red haze and mind goes black...

Turns...

Cell...

Cell standing there... 

Laughing...

He's laughing... 

He's...

World closes in and nothing but that laughing, white face... pale as death... red burning eyes and pitched high laughter, black twisting lips smirking vicious and cruel and...

“Poor, stupid monkey. You truly are pathetic Vegeta...”

“Fucking DIE!” 

Screams, only doesn't sound like him at all. Some kind of other voice. Animal voice. Like when he would become Oozaru, when he...

Blind fury and throws himself at Cell. Doesn't think. Wants to hurt... wants to kill him... kill him for that... kill him... kill him...

All of everything he has...

… And he knows it isn't enough.

Knows it truly only when his world reduces to pain, and he no longer can breathe.

… Doesn't even know he's been hit, until after his body collides with the earth...

Only knows for a moment...

He's failed again...

And darkness takes him under.

//

It's only a moment.

Only it's a moment Krillin knows he'll never forget.

The moment he looks up at Vegeta, and sees for the first time everything Bulma sees in him. 

He feels tears well and blind his eyes, burning down his face as they spill over, his heart a vicious ache as it slams against his chest, and suddenly it's like he can't breathe.

Trunks lies motionless at his knees, dead. Bled out within seconds. Krillin had run to him, some useless, desperate attempt to save him, and all he'd won for his effort was to watch the boy writhe in agony for long, unending moments before his eyes went dim with sightlessness and he had ceased to move at all.

And Krillin looks up at Vegeta, and he sees on the Saiyan's face such unspeakable horror. Eyes wide and shocked in a way Krillin had never seen, and he knows... he knows then how much Vegeta loved his son. Knows, in that one instant, how deeply Vegeta was capable of love, when before he hadn't believed Vegeta capable of it at all.

Fresh tears burn in Krillin's eyes at the sight of a father's despair, throat tight and gut hollow at the pain he feels for the Saiyan. 

Oh, poor man, Krillin thinks. 

Poor, poor man.

And he watches as the shock ripples away on Vegeta's face, collapsing, for a moment, to naked agony. A lifetime of wretched suffering plain in that one instant. And as quickly that too melts away, and familiar, unbridled rage takes its place. Eyes gleaming with the madness of reckless hate, and Krillin knows then Vegeta is going to do something stupid. Only he can't feel resentment towards him for it. Not now. Not after this.

He closes his eyes and looks away as he hears Vegeta's voice tear out of him in an awful scream. And he wonders then...

He wonders what it is...

What that must feel like...

To lose everything...

Everything that ever mattered to you...

Over and over again.

//

Kakarott's son.

Gohan.

His name is Gohan.

… Was him, all along... was Gohan... was...

Looks up at the boy, standing over him, and feels... 

Was always Gohan. Was always this boy who... 

… Could have been the hope of their people.

Should have been Gohan. Not him. Never supposed to be him. Should have been...

Looks up at the boy and feels awe.

Feels small. Small compared to this boy. Small and humiliated and thinks... 

… How many times had he wronged him? And thinks...

I'm sorry... I'm sorry...

“Gohan... I'm sorry.”

Boy looks down at him, and should be a look of hate. Look of disgust. 

Only isn't. 

Look only of sadness, and compassion, and feels awe, looking up at him. Feels awe, and small compared to him.

Thinks...

Gohan... 

If only it had been Gohan, and not him...

Nappa would still be alive, and Raditz...

His father...

Their people...

This boy would never have yielded to Frieza's power. Like he did. Gohan never would have...

… Would have fought. Would have won. Would have freed their people. Would have been their real hope.

… Not him. Never was him. False. He'd been a false prophecy. False everything. 

How much he wishes they all had realized it...

How much he wishes he had never had to carry the burden of their salvation. 

Never had to carry the burden of their hope...

I'm sorry Gohan, thinks again, and watches in awe as the boy stands against their enemy.

Kakarott's son.

The strongest Saiyan warrior he had ever known...

The greatest of all their people...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay everybody! So that was sort of the big, climactic moment for this whole section of the story. I hope I did an alright job of conveying it, and what a tremendous impact it had on Vegeta. If you get a chance, let me know your thoughts, and all my many, many thanks once more to all my supporters. You guys are awesome!


	47. Chapter 47

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning this chapter guys for mentions/references to noncon/rape. There aren't any flashbacks, but there's a scene where Vegeta is remembering some stuff that happened to him. So you've been warned.

Weeks after the tournament is over, weeks after Cell has been defeated and the Earth once more saved, Bulma often finds Vegeta sitting in Trunks' room, just looking at their son. 

Watching over him, Bulma likes to think.

She understands why.

He had watched their son die right in front of him.

Not the boy sleeping in the crib, but their son from another time. A Trunks from a future, who had fought beside Vegeta, and Goku, and Gohan, and all of them.

Bulma remembers, when at last it had been over, and they had all returned, she'd looked first for Vegeta and Trunks. She remembers the awful relief she had felt upon seeing Vegeta, and the overwhelming dread when she hadn't seen her son... Or Goku.

Krillin had been the one to tell her. It was always Krillin. She doesn't understand how he did it.

She remembers how she had broken into uncontrollable sobbing before the words had even left her friends mouth, and Krillin had pulled her into a crushing hug, whispering to her over and over again that it would be alright. That they could bring Trunks back with the dragon balls. 

That was the only thing that had kept her from losing her mind. She knows it. That they were able to bring their boy back. 

Vegeta had only stood there, staring through everything, eyes lost and vacant, and he hadn't spoken a single word. 

Bulma understands that too.

But even knowing they could bring Trunks back to life, it didn't undo the grief of knowing he had experienced death. That their baby boy had had to suffer that fear and pain and loneliness.

The very thing, Bulma knows, Vegeta had suffered himself.

She has to remind herself, sometimes, that Vegeta had died once.

She hadn't been there to see it, thank the gods. But Goku had told her. 

Goku and Krillin and Gohan. They all had told her what Frieza had done to Vegeta, that day on Namek. They all had told her how Frieza had tortured him, and then killed him.

And knowing what she did now about his life... knowing the brutality and sadness of all he had lived... to then have it end that way, on a planet far from any home he might ever have had, without friends... without family... at the hands of the same being who had made him a slave, and an object of his depthless cruelty... Bulma can't imagine. She doesn't want to. She doesn't think she could ever handle really knowing what Vegeta must have felt in those moments. Those last moments...

Krillin had told her too what Vegeta had done, how he had reacted, after Trunks had been shot through the chest by Cell. The way he had flown into a rage, throwing himself so recklessly, so blindly at Cell in some desperate attempt at revenge. Krillin had told her it broke his heart to see. He told her he understood then, why she cared so much for Vegeta. Krillin told her he understood why she loved him.

Bulma doesn't know if Krillin will ever understand how much hearing him say those words meant to her.

And even though Vegeta had stood apart, by himself, when they had wished Trunks back, Bulma hadn't missed the nod of acknowledgment he had given the boy before his departure, back to his own time line. Just like she couldn't have missed the painful relief she recognized in his eyes, seeing their son back alive. 

No one else would have noticed it, she knows. But she knew Vegeta. She knew him better than anyone. There was more in that look, she thinks, than he could have expressed in any amount of words.

In the end, it had been Gohan who defeated Cell. Of course. Goku's son.

And for all the grief she felt over Trunks dying, for Goku, it was infinitely more so, because Goku had already once been brought back to life with the dragon balls... and he couldn't be again.

He was gone.

Her best friend. Her sweet, loving, joyous best friend was gone forever.

Weeks after his death, and she still found herself bursting into tears whenever she thought of him. 

Oh, she misses him so damned much.

She doesn't know how Vegeta was taking it.

He wouldn't talk to her.

Only Bulma knows it must be effecting him somehow. 

Goku was to Vegeta... 

To put it honestly, Goku had been an obsession. Everything Vegeta had done since Bulma had known him, every goal he had set for himself, every task... somehow, it was all measured against Goku, and what Goku had done, and accomplished.

Vegeta had never been able to stop comparing himself to Goku. Had never been able to stop beating himself up either, every time he fell short of Goku's impossible standards. 

And each time Bulma had to watch it, she felt her heart ache in sadness, a suffocating weight of depression overtaking her as she could only stand by as Vegeta would spiral into another bout of self-loathing and disappointment.

There was no way then, that Goku's death had passed without Vegeta feeling it in one way or another. Just like she knew his basic ineffectiveness during the battle with Cell, and the fact that it was him who had allowed the android to reach his final form in the first place, was weighing heavy on him.

Bulma worries herself endlessly thinking about it, wishing he would say something to her. Wishing he wouldn't close himself off the way he had, these past, several weeks.

He had grown as quiet now as when she had first truly met him. Those first, long months when he had come to stay with her here, in Capsule Corp. When he had hardly spoken a single word to her, day or night, and kept so completely to himself that he had been almost like a ghost. A rare thing to even see him.

And it couldn't escape Bulma's notice either, that he wasn't training anymore. 

He hadn't so much as glanced at the gravity chamber she had built for him since the tournament had ended. She hadn't caught sight of him, out in the backyard, going through his rigorous paces as was his custom.

She's worried. Distractingly so. Unable to concentrate on her work. Unable, even, to fully concentrate on Trunks. She knows Vegeta well enough to know, whatever he's going through, it isn't good, and that his shutting down like this wasn't healthy for him.

All this is running through her mind then when she spots him out back, sitting at the same patio furniture he had been that day when she had first really tried talking to him. When she had brought him lunch, and things, predictably, had gone badly.

She knows he isn't going to come to her. 

If she leaves him alone, he's just going to get worse. More isolated. More alone.

And so she figures screw it, sliding open the screen door and making her way out across the lawn, towards him.

As she gets closer, she notices how he's staring ahead of him at nothing, his eyes blank and empty, face lacking any real expression.

“... Vegeta.” She calls out to him after a moment, and sees him start slightly, surprised by her voice.

He hadn't known she was there even.

He turns, looking up at her, blinking confusedly a moment before she sees him recognize her.

He doesn't say anything, and Bulma feels her heart kick.

“Can I sit with you?” She asks quietly.

He blinks at her again, a long moment passing without reply, and she worries for an instant he'll tell her no. But then he just nods, looking away from her again, back out across the expanse.

She sits down across from him, watching him several seconds longer before she can't take it anymore, reaching out across the table and grasping hold of his hand.

He starts again, and she can feel the tension coil up in the muscles of his wrist and arm as he looks at her once more.

“What's going on with you?” She asks bluntly. There was no use in trying to pretend she wasn't worried, she thinks. That wouldn't help him. “Vegeta, I need you to talk to me. Please baby.”

Again he says nothing for a long time. But he keeps looking at her, and for a moment, she sees his handsome face spasm into deep lines of pain, before he again looks away, shaking his head.

“... Nothing.” He says so softly she can barely hear it.

“That's bullshit.” She answers automatically, and she knows he knows that when he gives no reaction to her reprimand at all. He didn't think he was fooling her. “Vegeta, please talk to me. I know what happened out there effected you. It effected all of us.” She squeezes his hand tightly. “I need you to be okay. Please, just... tell me what it is.”

There's another long pause, his face casting down, and finally he starts to talk, that same, almost soundless voice.

“... Kakarott's boy...” he starts.

Oh boy, Bulma thinks. Here we go. She knew that had to have been bothering him. That it was Gohan who had defeated Cell. Gohan, who was still just a child. That wouldn't be easy for Vegeta to accept. 

“... He is a great Saiyan warrior.” He finishes, and Bulma's mind goes momentarily blank.

She hadn't been expecting that.

She isn't sure what she'd been expecting, really. Maybe insults. Or vitriolic declarations of how Gohan was of a lower class, and how he would never allow low class scum to surpass him in strength. That was usually what came out of Vegeta's mouth when talking about Goku anyway.

But she hadn't expected that. What he'd just said.

Bulma keeps holding onto his hand, unsure of what to say in return. She doesn't want to say the wrong thing and upset him more.

“Yeah, he... he's a great kid.” She tries gently.

Vegeta looks up at her, his eyes staring back at her intently, the deep, nearly black brown of his irises almost shocking in their intensity of color.

“He is a great warrior.” He says again, emphatically, almost pleadingly. “He would have...” He stops, voice going thin a moment. “He would have made a great leader for our... our people.” He continues finally. “If he had... if he had been in my place...”

Bulma can see already where this is going, and she doesn't like it at all.

“Vegeta,” she tries, but he cuts her off, talking over her.

“If he had been in my place, if it... if it had been Gohan instead of me that Frieza had taken, then he would have overthrown Frieza. He would have defeated him and... and freed our people. He would have saved Vegetasai from destruction. He would have...”

“Vegeta, no. No.” Bulma stops him, reaching out, laying her other hand over his. She wouldn't allow this. She wouldn't allow him to think this way. He was wrong. Too close to his trauma to see how wrong he was. To see what it had actually done to him. 

“He would have...” he tries again, weakly, and he looks at her with such despairing eyes, it's almost enough to force tears into Bulma's own.

“No.” She says again. “Vegeta, if Gohan, or Goku... if any of us had been in your position,” she shakes her head. “none of us would be who we are now. None of us would be the same. Don't you understand that?”

His face tells her he doesn't. He doesn't understand it at all.

“He's so much stronger than me...” he starts, and again she shakes her head.

“Because he was given everything he ever needed to become that strong Vegeta. Don't you see? Gohan's grown up with the most loving family a child could possibly have. A mother who gives all she has to make sure he has every advantage. A father who would... who... who did give his life for him. Friends who would all do the same. He grew up with every support and advantage that was needed to become who he now is. He never would have if he'd... if he hadn't had all of that. All of these people who cared about and love him the way they do. If he had been in your place Vegeta, there's no guarantee that he even would have survived. Don't... don't sell yourself short like that. Don't downplay what you suffered Vegeta.”

“... I had a family.” He says after a long moment, looking away from her. “I had Nappa and Raditz. They... they took care of me. They looked after me...”

“They did what they could Vegeta.” She says back. “It wasn't enough. Not for the situation you were in. Don't you understand that all of what Frieza did to you was done with the intention of holding you down? If you aren't as strong as Gohan is, or as Goku was, it isn't because you aren't as good as they are Vegeta. It's because you never had the support you needed to become all of what you were meant to be, or what you could be. Gohan wouldn't be as strong as he is now if he'd been put into the position you were Vegeta. Neither would Goku. People need help to reach their full potential Vegeta. They can't do it all by themselves. And they can't do it when those who are in power are doing everything they can to stop it from happening.”

Bulma can see Vegeta's face tighten, his eyes fixing on the ground, filled suddenly with open emotion. And she feels his hand beneath her clench into a fist. She prays he understands. Gods, he had to. He couldn't do this to himself. She was telling him the truth. 

If any of them had suffered what Vegeta had, she isn't sure any of them would be alive still to even tell of it. Vegeta had survived though. He'd survived in spite of it all. He had to understand how strong that made him. Maybe not the kind of strength he knew, or understood. The strength of his ki, or whatever else. But a strength of the soul. A strength of will. And heart.

He's the strongest person she's ever known, she thinks. She can say that without reservation.

“... I didn't want Kakarott to die.” He says suddenly. “I... I thought I did, or... I thought I wouldn't care but... I didn't want him to die. I didn't want that.”

Bulma feels her throat tighten, eyes stinging abruptly. 

Oh, Vegeta...

“I know baby.” She says softly. “I know. It's okay, if you're upset that he's gone. It's okay. You know? I'm upset too. I'm really upset.”

“... I know he was... your friend.” Vegeta says, and Bulma feels almost overwhelmed by hearing him say that. To hear him acknowledge that, despite everything, despite so much animosity he'd felt towards Goku. “I'm... I'm sorry he died. I didn't want that. I'm sorry it... it hurts you.”

He looks at her, expression raw.

“He was the only other one left.” He says, voice raspy and weak. “... Gu-guess it's just me now. I guess... I'm s-sorry I can't be him for you.”

“Oh Vegeta...” Bulma can't stop the tears which slip from her eyes now, down her cheeks, and she leans all the way across the table, throwing her arms around him, pushing her face against his neck. “No.” She breathes desperately. “No. I wouldn't replace you for anyone Vegeta. I don't want anyone else but you. I don't want anyone else.”

//

Bulma under him, soft and warm. 

Feels good. Feels so good. Was getting better at it. At sex. Thinks Bulma liked it now too. Could go on longer. Knew... starting to know what she liked, where she was... where it felt best for her.

Can feel her arms crossed along his back, smooth skin of her arms, and she moans loudly, pulling him down against her chest. Pushes his face between her neck and shoulder. Breathes in. Drives him crazy, the way she smells. Would know it anywhere, now. Her scent. Feels her legs spread out wider underneath him. Rolls his hips forward. Feels so good. Being this close to her. Wants... wants to be this close to her always. Wants...

“Turn over for me Vegeta...” 

Legs wrap around his waist and she's got him on his back, somehow.

Hands against his chest, and she's pushing against him, hard, pressure, knees round his hips and she's... 

“Turns over for me...”

“... Turn...”

“Turn over for me monkey...”

Rolls her hips and that deep warmth, spreading out into the pit of his belly. Can feel himself ejaculate inside her, and deep warmth, spreading, belly to his arms and legs, so... feels so good and weak and helpless and...

Feels a cold, small hand between his legs... on his penis, squeezing hard, pressing at the base of his tail, deep warmth in his belly, knees weak, giving out, head rushes as he ejaculates and... and...

Frieza's voice in his ear, high and ugly and...

“Good monkey...”

Awful, sick fear, and pleasure, feels so... and heart pounds. Terror. Hears himself gasp, ragged and loud and panic. Bile burning his throat. Reaches up, grasps Bulma's shoulders, shoves her off of him.

Nearly collapses to his face as he falls from the bed, stumbling.

Barely makes it in time to the washroom. Hears Bulma call after him, frightened, confused. Hands won't work right, fumbling with the toilet lid. Hardly gets it up before he's puking into the bowl. Sick nausea swirling in his gut, sweeping away the warmth of before.

“... Turn over for me monkey...”

Knows it. Knows that voice too. Remembers, suddenly. Remembers, oh God...

“... Little ass is too small to take me I guess. But no problem. You can use your mouth on my cock instead.”

Rough, giant hands on him... tanned skin... calloused palms... pressing against his stomach. Pressure... too much pressure, feels like its coming up from his pelvis into... into his gut, feels like... hurts so much. Tries to scream and can't. Hand over his mouth, pressing down. Over his nose and can't... can't breathe and... 

“Keep it quiet you ugly little fuck, or I'll slit that scrawny little throat of yours...”

Sick taste in his mouth. Ridged skin pressing past his teeth, thick and wet and gonna be sick, gonna be... Feels himself gagging, something thick and wet, hitting the back of his throat and...

“Your mouth feels real good monkey. How're you liking my fingers? Surprised I can get more than one in there. Your ass is so tight...”

Racoom...

It was Racoom who'd...

Feels bile burn back up his throat. Vomits again into the toilet. Head spins and can't stop shaking. 

No... doesn't want to remember this. Doesn't want to. Doesn't. Doesn't...

Eyes burn, and he pukes again, heaves. Doesn't want to remember this. Please... please... please...

“Vegeta...”

Slumps down. Can't hold his head up anymore. Cold feel of the toilet bowl against his forehead. Doesn't want her to see him. Doesn't want her to...

Feels her at his side, kneeling down. Soft arm across his shoulders. Holding him.

Wants to put his face against her chest. Thinks he's gonna cry and doesn't want to. 

“What is it?” She asks softly.

Can't tell her. Can't. Doesn't want her to know. Never told anybody. Not Nappa or Raditz. Never told anybody. Hate him if she knows. Will think he's disgusting. Will...

“Vegeta...” 

Right against him now, arm pulling him against her. Presses her lips to his temple.

“It's alright.” She says. “Baby... if somebody did something to you... if they did something sexual to you... it's not your fault. Alright? Do you understand that? It's not your fault.”

She knows.

Doesn't understand how she...

“But Vegeta, I need you to tell me. So I don't do anything to you you don't like, or don't want. I need to know what your limits are. Please... Don't be afraid to tell me. I want to help you so much baby.”

Can't look at her. Keeps his face down, head against the toilet. Can't...

Knew anyway. She knew anyway. Doesn't understand how.

Doesn't... 

Feels like he's gonna pass out from it. Memory pressing down on him and feels like...

“... F-Frieza and... a-and another guy named... named Racoom...”

Starts talking without even realizing it at first. Starts talking and suddenly can't stop. Suddenly needs to tell someone... needs to tell Bulma... needs...

“... Th... they made me... they touched... t-touched me th... s-same places yo... you... you touch me and mm-made me... didn't... didn't f-feel the same as with you Bulma, but... but it... I... it didn't feel the same... it didn't...”

“But it still felt good?” She says softly, and feels sick again.

Yes, he thinks, and hates... hates himself. Can't say it out loud. Can't. Nods his head and keeps his face from her.

“Okay. Vegeta. I need you to listen to me right now. Can you look at me? Please?”

“... No.” 

“Okay. But will you listen to me? Listen carefully?”

Swallows hard, throat tight and it hurts and...

Nods weakly.

“Okay. Vegeta, just because what they did to you felt good, that doesn't mean you liked it. And it doesn't mean you wanted it either. You didn't. I know you didn't. They forced themselves on you, because they knew you couldn't fight back. Do you understand what consent is?”

Thinks he knows. 

“P... permission.” He says.

“That's right. Permission. And you didn't give Frieza or this other person permission, did you? To do what they did. You didn't tell them you wanted them to do what they did. Am I right?”

Nods again, chest tight and panic. Fingers tingling like he's scared. Like he's...

“You know what it's called? What they did to you Vegeta?” She keeps talking, her voice so gentle and kind and...

Doesn't answer.

Knows... He knows what it is. Doesn't want... doesn't want to say it, doesn't...

“Baby, they raped you. Okay? That's what it's called when someone forces you to do something sexual that you don't want. Whether to you, or whether they make you do something to them. And listen to me very carefully here Vegeta. It only felt good to you because it's a natural response of the body, when certain parts of it are stimulated. You're body is naturally going to respond to certain stimuli, and it isn't something you can control at all. Whether you want it to or not.”

“... I didn't want them to...” says. Feels so pathetic. Can hear his voice shaking and feels so weak.

“That's the only thing that matters here Vegeta. That you didn't want them to. What they did to you isn't your fault. It doesn't say anything about you. It only says something about them. You didn't do anything wrong.”

“... I sh-shoulda'... shoulda' been able to f-fight...” says. Doesn't understand why she doesn't sound disgusted. Feels disgusted by himself.

“Can I tell you something about myself Vegeta?”

Bites the inside of his mouth. Nods. Can't look at her still.

“When I was younger, I had a boyfriend. Well, he wasn't really my boyfriend. He was just a guy that I went out with a few times. Anyway, I was a virgin at the time. You know? I'd never had sex before. And this guy convinced me that we should. I didn't want to, but I said okay because I wanted to impress him. So we had sex and I fucking hated every second of it. It hurt, and I remember probably less than a minute in I wanted to tell him to stop. But I was too afraid to, and so he just kept going. The whole thing was over fast, but I remember at the time it felt like it wouldn't end. I felt so disgusting afterwards. I completely hated myself. And blamed myself. I told myself I should have tried harder to make him stop. That I should have punched him or kicked him, or just said no to start with. It took me years before I realized I needed to stop blaming myself. This guy was older than me by about five years. I was 16 at the time. And he knew what he was doing. He had experience. I didn't. He took advantage of me, and how naive I was. That's on him. Not me. I don't blame myself for it anymore Vegeta, because I know it wasn't my fault, and that I didn't do anything wrong. It's never on you if you're in a situation like that, where you've got no experience, and you're dealing with someone who does, or when someone has power over you and they use that power to hurt you, either because they know you can't fight back, or because you don't know how. That's on them. It's their fault. They're the one's who did something wrong.”

Thinks he's going to find this man Bulma's talking about. Thinks he's going to find him and kill him. Thinks...

“Vegeta, it's alright. He's long gone. Okay? I don't even know what ever happened to him. For all I know he could be dead now. Don't think about going after him or anything. I don't need you to do that for me. I told you what I did because I wanted you to see that I don't blame myself for what someone else did to me, and neither should you.”

Doesn't know how she does that. Doesn't know how she can tell what he's thinking so well when he hasn't said anything at all.

Doesn't know how Bulma can be the way she is. 

Perfect, he thinks. 

Knows why she told him. Knows she was trying to help.

Can't tell her though she's better than him. Didn't deserve to be hurt by anyone. Bulma didn't deserve that. Didn't matter so much with him...

“Baby, can you look at me now?” She asks.

Doesn't want to. Doesn't want her to see him. Doesn't... doesn't want to a be a disappointment to her too.

“Vegeta...”

Forces himself to look up at her. Shouldn't... shouldn't be a coward like that. 

Looks at her and doesn't see disgust... doesn't... doesn't even see pity. So afraid she'd... she'd look at him like he was pathetic. But she wasn't.

Looks at him with something else.

Doesn't really know what it is.

Not pity though. More like...

“I love you.” She says.

Words flash in his head. Looks at her and thinks... 

Thinks the same.

Loves her, he thinks. 

He loves her.

Can't remember how he ends up in her arms. Just knows he's there suddenly.

Face against her shoulder and safe here, thinks. Feel of her against him and it's safe here.

Safe here.

Doesn't know how it is he ever ended up with someone like her...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much again guys for all your support! Now that all the big battles are out of the way for the moment, we'll be able to focus on Vegeta's relationship with Bulma more and hopefully the healing that will begin for our boy. Hope you enjoyed the chapter and leave a comment if you can!


	48. Chapter 48

“He's right over there.”

Bulma points to the far end of the yard, underneath the big tree, where a picnic table had been set up, covered from the midday sun by the shade of the trees foliage.

Gohan spots Vegeta sitting there, by himself.

It isn't lost on him, how sad that seems, on today of all days.

Bulma had invited all of them over. Him, and Mom, and Krillin, and Mr. Piccolo, and Yamcha, and Tien. Everybody.

It was Vegeta's birthday, she said.

Vegeta was one of those people who you never really thought about as having birthdays. He was one of those people who you just couldn't really imagine in the context of normal, every day things like that.

But Gohan knew that wasn't fair. Vegeta was a person, like all of them. 

And Bulma said today he was 34 years old.

He looks younger than that, Gohan thinks, as he moves closer to him. 

Something about Vegeta always struck Gohan as both incredibly young and incredibly old. He knows that didn't really make any sense. But Vegeta didn't really make a whole lot of sense to him any way. 

Vegeta looked young. The same way Father had looked young. Both of them never looked over eighteen, nineteen years old. 

But the way Vegeta held himself, the way his face was always lined in so much tension and anxiety, it made him seem older. Like he was worn out and couldn't go on any more. That was different from Father. 

Father had been so positive. So full of life...

But with Vegeta... it was like he'd seen too much. Been through too much...

Gohan knows he has.

Bulma only ever hinted at it with him. Only ever said Vegeta had had a really hard life, and more or less left it at that. But Gohan was smart enough to know what that meant. 

All you had to do was look at where he'd come from, and look at Frieza...

Gohan still got chills whenever he thought about that monster. About the power he'd had... and how cruel he'd been...

The way he'd tortured Vegeta...

He can still remember the sound of it. The desperate, helpless gasping as Frieza had squeezed tighter and tighter round Vegeta's throat with that horrible, reptilian like tail of his. The way Vegeta's pupils had shrunk to pinpricks, eyes wide and frightened as Frieza had again and again and again sunk his fist into the Saiyan's back, and blood had poured from Vegeta's opened mouth, sprayed from it with each blow, and Gohan had known, even then, what it meant. Knew Frieza was hitting Vegeta so hard that he was... was rupturing his insides. Remembers how helpless he'd felt himself, wanting so desperately to do something, to stop it, somehow, and Krillin holding him back, telling him frantically there was nothing they could do. Frieza would kill them all.

That had been the worst thing Gohan had ever seen. The way Frieza had tortured Vegeta then. The ugliest, worst thing.

He doesn't need Bulma to give him the details of Vegeta's life to know then it was horrible. He knew it enough from what he'd seen that day.

There'd been so many days since then, since Vegeta had been brought back to life, and brought here to Earth... since he'd begun living with Bulma, and the two of them had somehow, against all the seeming odds, started a relationship together, when Gohan had wanted to be Vegeta's friend.

He knows that doesn't make a whole lot of sense either.

Vegeta had been anything but kind to him. In truth, he'd himself been cruel. Those first few times they'd encountered one another, and Vegeta had seemed so animalistic, so filled with blood lust and violence.

It had seemed to Gohan then that Vegeta had truly enjoyed hurting them. Had truly enjoyed hurting other people. The way he knows Frieza had. 

It was only after what had happened on Namek, only after Vegeta had fought side by side with them there... after Vegeta had saved his life from Frieza... and Gohan knew then it didn't matter what Vegeta had said, about the reasons for why he'd done it... he'd done it, when he didn't have to... when Gohan had been doing nothing really to help in that fight... after Vegeta had sacrificed his life to help them fight against Frieza... after he had told them how to bring Father back, when they all had thought he'd died in the destruction of Namek...

It was only after all of that, he understood Vegeta wasn't the same as Frieza at all. After all of that, that Gohan understood there was true goodness in him. 

He'd tried a few times to talk to Vegeta in the years since he'd come to Earth and he and Bulma had gotten together. But Vegeta was always so aloof. Usually he didn't respond at all. And the few times he had, he'd been outwardly hostile.

… But things had been different since the fight with Cell.

Gohan had only acted on instinct out there, when he'd seen Cell about to kill Vegeta. Memories of Vegeta latching hold of him and tossing him from harms way, back on Namek... memories of watching Vegeta tortured at Frieza's hands, they'd flashed through his mind in an instant, and he hadn't thought. Only acted. Jumped in front of Vegeta and knocked Cell's ki blast away. 

He doesn't think he'll ever forget the shocked look on Vegeta's face then, as he'd looked up at him from the ground. 

It was a look like he couldn't... couldn't believe someone had actually done that for him. Actually helped him. 

And then he'd told him he was sorry, his voice, Gohan remembers, thick on the verge of tears. As if he'd actually done something wrong by attacking Cell. After watching Cell murder his son... he'd said he was sorry, and Gohan had for a moment felt like he couldn't breathe, he'd felt so overwhelmingly sad.

He'd wanted to tell Vegeta he had nothing to be sorry for. Not for that, anyway. Only there hadn't been time. There hadn't been time for anything but to fight Cell. To destroy him for what he'd done to them all. Another monster who had taken too much.

He hadn't really had a chance to even see Vegeta since that day. Everything had been so...

So horrible... 

With Father dying... and Mom...

Oh, his poor Mom. She was still so heartbroken about it. 

They all were. 

He was trying hard to be strong for her. To not fall apart himself.

But he missed Father so much some days, it was like drowning, and he couldn't help sometimes the way he would burst into tears, even though he knows that was something he was meant to have left behind in his childhood. 

Mr. Piccolo would have scolded him for it.

Maybe out of everyone, it was Bulma who understood how Gohan felt best of all. It was her, anyway, who he felt he could let his feelings be seen by, and know it wouldn't hurt her, or get a negative reaction.

Bulma had known Father longer than almost anyone. And Gohan knows she misses him just as much as he does.

Just like he knows today is important to Bulma. 

She was trying so hard with Vegeta. Trying to help him. She wanted him to have friends. To feel like he was a part of all of them.

So she had invited them, telling them that she was throwing a low key party for him. That she had made sure to tell him about it beforehand, and ask if it was alright. He hadn't protested, and so here they all were.

Only Gohan was painfully aware of how everyone was actively avoiding going up to Vegeta at all, though he kept noticing Krillin looking over at the Saiyan, a look on his face like he wanted to go up to him and talk, but was afraid to.

He hoped by doing it himself, it would encourage Krillin then, and maybe everyone else too. It wasn't right, for Vegeta to spend his birthday sitting by himself.

Besides which, Gohan wanted to talk to Vegeta either way.

Bulma had shared with him Vegeta's struggles with reading and writing. She'd told him he was making sparse progress, not because he wasn't able to understand, but because he was embarrassed, and because of that he didn't want to try. That, and Bulma herself hadn't had much time to help him the way he needed, because her work lately had been getting busier, with her father beginning to hand off to her more of of their companies responsibilities.

She'd asked privately of Gohan if he might be willing to try and help Vegeta. She knew about the tutoring he did outside of school for other students, and had heard that he was good at it. He guesses he was, and he'd told her he would be happy to help Vegeta, if Vegeta would accept it.

Vegeta glances up at him as he's approaching, and Gohan smiles at him, waving.

He was just as tall as Vegeta now. Would probably be taller than him in a few months more time. 

Gohan can't help feeling bad about that too. 

Sometimes it seemed to him like everything went against Vegeta. He can't really begin to imagine then what it must seem like to the Saiyan himself.

Vegeta nods at him before glancing away again, and that was one of the things that had changed since the fight with Cell.

Vegeta, limited as their interaction had been since the tournament, had begun to outwardly acknowledge Gohan, no longer pretending he wasn't there or scowling at him, the way he used to. He wasn't hostile anymore, or even antisocial, though Gohan wouldn't call him social either. He never really started conversations himself, and rarely spoke at all. He would look at Gohan now though, and nod at him, the way he'd just done.

“Happy birthday Vegeta!” Gohan greets as he reaches the picnic table.

Again Vegeta glances up at him, nodding once before again looking away. He doesn't say anything and Gohan pulls out a chair, sitting down across from him.

There's a paper plate sprinkled over with crumbs of the birthday cake that Bulma had put out, and an empty plastic cup, and Gohan is glad to see Vegeta's eating at least.

He hesitates for a moment, trying to think how to best start a conversation. 

Vegeta didn't make it easy, and Gohan wonders absently if he's this way with Bulma too.

He doubts it. Bulma was never easily dissuaded, and she knew how to get people to open up and talk. 

“... I'm... sorry...” 

Gohan is taken aback by Vegeta suddenly speaking, and he sees the older Saiyan glance at him quickly before his eyes shift away, back over the expanse of the yard.

“About your father.” He finishes. 

For a moment, Gohan doesn't even know how to respond. His voice feels trapped in his throat, and even if it didn't, he doesn't think he would have any words.

It didn't seem to him any sort of secret, the resentment Vegeta had felt towards Father. And even though Vegeta had fought by their side against the androids, and had for several years now been living among them peacefully on Earth, Gohan had never quite been able to shake the memory of what had happened the first time he had come here. How he had nearly killed Father. Nearly killed them all, actually. He can still remember the burning, terrifying rage Vegeta had shown towards Father. The way his eyes had vibrated with hatred for him, teeth bared in animalistic violence. 

He remembers what Vegeta had said to him, when Father had been lying paralyzed and helpless on the ground, and he had experienced the agony of having his breath stolen completely from his lungs by Vegeta's knee in his gut.

“You can die with your father.” Vegeta had said. And Gohan had known then Vegeta meant every word. Had known Vegeta would have killed them both, if he had been able.

There was still a certain fear Gohan felt towards Vegeta, even now, despite knowing logically he wasn't the same as he had been then. Knowing certainly that he wouldn't try to kill any of them anymore.

Logically too, Gohan understood that he was now more powerful than Vegeta. That even if Vegeta somehow lost his mind again and tried hurting any of them, Gohan could stop him.

But there was something deeply intimidating about Vegeta, even knowing all of that. 

If Vegeta wasn't as strong as he was, or as strong as Father had been, still, he wasn't far behind. And Gohan had never seen in another person the kind of self willed drive Vegeta had. It was downright scary, in a way. How Vegeta was able, all by himself, to push himself and will himself to reach heights that the rest of them had reached only through each others support and guidance. 

He had immense concentration and focus. 

On top of all that, there was a quality about Vegeta that just seemed... dangerous. All you had to do was look at him to see he'd been through more physical combat than probably all of the Z fighters combined. He's wearing a tank top now, his sinewy arms fully exposed, the neck line of the shirt drooping to expose the top half of his chest, and Gohan can see in the bright daylight the mass of scars covering his body. It looked like somebody had decided to use Vegeta's skin as a canvas for counting units or something, there were so many lines of raised scar tissue crossing and crisscrossing over each other, so that scarcely an area remained that wasn't in some way marred.

Gohan, despite his greater power, knew full well when he was talking to Vegeta, he was talking to a man, and that he was still just a boy. And he supposes for that reason alone, he felt a certain amount of respect and trepidation towards the older Saiyan.

“Th... thanks.” Gohan forces himself to answer finally, not sure what else to say. 

The pain of his father's loss was still raw, and he wasn't sure he wanted to talk about him at all right now.

He sees Vegeta glance down at his lap, and doesn't miss the way the fingers of his hand curl into a fist along the tabletop.

“... He was a great warrior.” He says, voice low, almost too quiet to hear. “He deserved better than that.”

Again Gohan stammers out a thank you, still uncertain how to reply.

Vegeta's voice is blunt. Deep and raw, and almost awkwardly honest, the way it always seemed to be to Gohan. Like he didn't know how to be any other way. Didn't know how to be delicate, or polite, or how to placate.

“... You also.” Vegeta keeps talking, and Gohan doesn't think he's ever said as much to him in the whole time they've known each other as he's saying now. “You have immense talent boy.” Vegeta looks up at him, finally holding his gaze steadily. The older Saiyan's face is tight and uncomfortable, and Gohan knows this isn't easy for him. He shakes his head. “Don't waste it.”

Gohan doesn't know what to call the look Vegeta gives him then. 

There's a kind of desperation in it. Almost a pleading, anguished look. But it's gone so fast, Gohan isn't sure he saw it at all, replaced a moment later by the unsmiling flatness of Vegeta's usual expression.

“I'll try not to...” Gohan starts to say. He doesn't know how to explain to Vegeta, the same way he didn't really know how to explain to Father, that he isn't really that into fighting, or training, or getting stronger. He wasn't passionate about it, the way he was about his school work. He just had this natural strength. It wasn't anything he had ever wished for though. 

He nearly tumbles backward on his chair as Vegeta lashes out almost too quickly to see, reaching across the table and grabbing him by the front of his shirt, pulling him up out of his seat. 

“Don't waste it.” Vegeta growls lowly, and Gohan feels his mouth go totally dry. 

Gods...

“I... I won't. I won't waste it.”

Vegeta hangs on to him a moment longer, glaring at him with hard, black eyes, before he lets go of him and falls back into his own seat, his ravaged arms coming up and folding over his chest, his face turning away.

Gohan glances around and sees everyone staring at them, Mr. Piccolo with a look on his face like he's gonna come charging over, and Gohan shakes his head at him to let him know he's alright. Mr. Piccolo hardly looks convinced, but Gohan breathes a sigh of relief when he sees him fall back, an unhappy scowl on his face as he crosses his arms, still watching them.

“Uh... s-so...” he starts after an uncomfortable silence, rubbing the back of his head and only half looking at Vegeta. “Bulma tells me you might want a... a tutor?”

Gohan sees Vegeta's whole body tense up for a moment, jaw setting, and he hopes he hasn't said the wrong thing.

“... For what?” Vegeta hisses a moment later, keeping his eyes on the distance still.

“Um, for your, uh... your reading and writing. She says you have a little... a little trouble with that and I... well, I do some tudoring for some of the kids at my school, and she thought I might be able to help you.”

Gohan braces himself for what he thinks will be another angry outburst, but Vegeta just stays silent for a long, few seconds, his shoulders almost up to his ears with tension before it all seems to drain out of him and he looks down, whole body slumping.

“... Can't she keep her mouth shut about that?” He mutters, and Gohan thinks he's talking more to himself.

He can't help noticing though how there isn't any real anger in Vegeta's tone. Only an exasperated exhaustion, almost a fondness in the way he says it, and he can't help but smile.

Bulma had that effect on people. She could be tiring in her enthusiasm and the way she always wanted to get involved in everything. But she always meant so well, you couldn't ever really be mad at her.

“... I'm bad at reading and writing.” Vegeta says after a moment, and Gohan can hear the embarrassment in his voice, even as he keeps it hardly more than a whisper. “You already know that, obviously. I doubt you can help me. I'm just dumb when it comes to it.”

“Oh, I don't think it's that!” Gohan can't help but exclaim, his mouth snapping shut when Vegeta turns and glares at him.

“... How the hell would you know?” Vegeta growls at him.

Gohan hesitates. He knows he has to be careful in what words he chooses with Vegeta. He'd stuck his foot in his mouth more than once since he'd known him, until he'd finally realized Vegeta was, ironically, extremely sensitive. Words meant a lot to him. It wasn't like with Father, who everything had just seemed to bounce off of without any real effect.

“You're really smart Vegeta.” He starts after a moment. And he means it. Vegeta is really smart. You could tell that just by talking to him, and by looking at his eyes. He has intelligent eyes, Gohan thinks. Thoughtful eyes. He doesn't doubt, if only Vegeta had been given the chance at a real education, he could even have excelled in academics. “Bulma even says so, and you know how hard it is to impress her, given she's a genius and all. She's told me about how you help her figure things out in the lab that she's having trouble with even.”

Some look passes across Vegeta's face for a moment. One Gohan isn't sure he's ever seen before.

He sees Vegeta's eyes shift across the lawn, staring at something intently a moment, and for the briefest instant, an almost whimsical expression comes into his gaze, his lips twitching up like he might actually smile.

Only as quickly as it's there, the expression falls away, and Vegeta's eyes shift back to Gohan.

“... She's generous.” He says. “It's easy for her, because she knows her intelligence isn't threatened by me. I'm not smart.” He shakes his head, looking away, and his expression goes distant then, like he's remembering something, brow creasing in some unpleasant thought. “... You would be wasting your time.”

Gohan frowns.

He wasn't used to hearing Vegeta talk that way about himself. Self-deprecating. He remembers Bulma telling them all that Vegeta could be extremely hard on himself, and he supposes this is part of what she meant.

Still, it was weird. Gohan had only ever seen Vegeta talk constantly about being the best, being number one. Talking about how he was a Saiyan elite, how he was a prince...

That was also something about Vegeta he often had a hard time wrapping his head around.

Vegeta was a prince. Literally. He had come from a line of noble monarchs who had ruled the Saiyan race since the dawn of their civilization. His father had been the King of Vegetasai, the planet that Vegeta, and Father too, had come from. And Vegeta himself had been set to inherit that rule, if not for his enslavement into Frieza's service.

It was hard to believe, looking at Vegeta.

Not that Vegeta seemed common to Gohan. Far from it. There was something obviously special about him. He wasn't really like anyone Gohan had ever known. 

It was just, he seemed so rough, and withdrawn, and sometimes awkward... Whenever Gohan thought of royalty, he thought of the exact opposite. Someone who was incredibly cultured, well mannered and charming. Someone who had incredible bearing and poise.

… Maybe Vegeta would have been that way, if he hadn't been taken by Frieza...

“It's never a waste to try and learn.” Gohan answers after a moment. “I would be honored to help you any way I can, if you'd like me to. Reading can be really tough if you don't have the basic fundamentals in place first. Well, like anything I guess. I'm trying to learn French right now, and that's pretty hard. So I understand. But I was thinking, if you wanted some tutoring, I can come by here during the week, after school, and spend an hour or two with you maybe. What do you think?”

Vegeta's eyes slide to him for a moment, staring keenly, as if he's trying to make out whether Gohan was sincere or not. Something about the look makes Gohan uncomfortable, his chest tight with a kind of sadness almost. He doesn't think he's ever given Vegeta any reason to distrust him, or his intentions. But he supposes anyone who had grown up the way Vegeta had wouldn't ever be easy to give their trust.

“... Why?” He says suddenly.

Gohan blinks.

“Why?” He repeats, confused, not understanding.

“Why would you be honored to help me?” Vegeta shakes his head, looking more squarely at him. “You're better than me.”

For an instant Gohan's mind blanks out, and no words will come to him.

“I'm...” he starts, struggling, not knowing what to say.

“It should only be an honor to serve someone better than you. I'm not. I began as your enemy. I tried to kill you. I don't understand why you would say it's an honor then, to try and teach me anything.”

Gohan struggles still with what to reply. 

He hadn't expected Vegeta to focus in on his words so... precisely. 

He guesses maybe he'd underestimated how good a listener Vegeta was. He'd obviously been paying attention, even when it hadn't appeared really like he was.

“... M-maybe you started out as my enemy, but you've become my friend Vegeta. And I've always thought it was an honor to help my friends and family any way I could.” He starts, and he doesn't miss the way Vegeta's face almost spasms, or the way he looks suddenly, quickly away, a quiet huff escaping his lips.

“And I'm not better than you either. I mean, maybe I've got more power for the moment, but with how dedicated you are, you could overtake me any day I think. And besides, you're a better technical fighter. Even Mr. Piccolo told me he's never seen another fighter like you. He said you're the best he's ever seen, when it comes to technique.”

Vegeta crosses his arms over his chest, his face turning down, and for long seconds he doesn't say anything.

“... You don't know me Gohan.” He says at last, voice hardly more than a whisper. “... I'm not a good person.”

There's that uncomfortable, tight feeling in Gohan's chest again, his mouth going suddenly dry.

… He knows Vegeta's done a lot of bad things. Really bad. But...

He'd always been a firm believer in redemption. So had Father. It was why he'd had such an open heart towards Mr. Piccolo, and Tien, and Yamcha, and even Krillin. They'd all started out as Father's enemy, in one way or another, though none of them had been nearly so dangerous as Vegeta, obviously. 

Still, sometimes all someone needed was for someone to give them a chance. Gohan wasn't going to sit here casting judgments when he didn't know the true circumstances of Vegeta's life. Not really.

He shakes his head.

“I don't believe that Vegeta.” He answers honestly. “Maybe you've done bad things, but... that doesn't mean you're not a good person, or that you can't be a good person. We're all capable of good and bad. Ya know?”

Again there's a long silence, Vegeta's face tight, withdrawn.

“... I wish I did.” He says finally, and Gohan can barely make it out at all.

Gohan thinks then it's better not to push. Vegeta seemed to be closing off to him, and he knows pushing would only make it worse. Whatever the older Saiyan decided, he would accept it.

“... If... if you want to come after... school...” Vegeta at last starts, still not looking at Gohan. The way he says school, it's almost like he doesn't know what that is. “... it's fine by me.” 

Gohan can't help the grin which spreads instantly across his face, a kind of ridiculous excitement bubbling up inside him.

He hadn't really thought Vegeta would accept!

“Alright!” He exclaims happily. “It's a deal then!” He sticks his hand out without thinking and Vegeta starts, glancing at it with a frown.

Gohan remembers suddenly the last time he'd tried to shake Vegeta's hand, after he had told them how they could bring Father back safely to Earth from the destroyed Namek. Remembers the way Vegeta had smacked his offered hand away and then...

He falters, beginning to pull his hand back, not wanting to offend, or somehow cause Vegeta to change his mind.

He's shocked, then, when Vegeta suddenly reaches out, grasping loose hold of his forearm.

“... A deal.” He says softly, looking Gohan in the eyes.

A moment later he lets go, standing from the table, and Gohan only watches as he turns back towards the Capsule Corp compound, disappearing inside it as if he'd never been there at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again thank you to all my readers! You guys totally make my day when you leave comments, so if you have a chance please do! Hope you enjoyed!


	49. Chapter 49

“So today wasn't so bad, was it?”

Bulma reaches out, taking hold of Vegeta's hand as he lies quietly beside her, the room quiet and dark.

Her parents had turned in a few hours before, worn out from the day's activities, and it hadn't surprised Bulma that Vegeta had disappeared inside the house a long while before the last guests had left. Still, he'd lasted a lot longer than she'd initially thought he would, and she can't help feeling a little proud of him for it. 

She knows it isn't easy for him, even still. Socializing. He just didn't take naturally to it at all. But she'd thought it might be good for him, to have some people around him, to just have some activity, to keep his mind from... everything. 

She'd been surprised when she'd brought the idea of a birthday party up to him and he hadn't immediately shot her down. He hadn't exactly been enthusiastic, but he hadn't refused either, telling her if it would make her happy then she should do it. She'd responded that she wanted him to be happy and he'd looked at her like he didn't understand her, before replying quietly that he would be happy if she was.

So she'd decided to go for it, praying it would go over better than the last time she'd had a get together, inviting just her closest friends, and Bulma had taken heart when she'd seen first Gohan, and then later on even Krillin going up to Vegeta and talking to him, and to see Vegeta talking back. Each conversation had lasted only a couple minutes, and Vegeta had disappeared back into the house after each one, like he'd needed a break from it. But still he'd come back out eventually, and sat at the little picnic table, just quietly watching everyone else interact.

It was more than she could have hoped for, honestly. And she was hopeful even that he may have had an okay time.

He squeezes her hand back, not saying anything for a long moment, lying there in the quiet, his face turned toward the ceiling.

“... I liked the presents.” He says, and even in the dark she can see his lips curl up at the corners.

“Of course you would say that.” She laughs, slapping his arm playfully. It was always like smacking her hand against a brick wall, whenever she hit him. She hears him huff, chest vibrating with quiet amusement, and her own heart swells for a moment with almost unbearable fondness for him. 

She pushes closer, until she's right up against his side, relishing in the warmth of his body as she throws her arm and leg across him, burying her face into his neck. She loves just holding onto him like this. He was so strong, all that strength contained in his perfect little body, the perfect size for her to wrap her own entire body around. Like a wonderful teddy bear.

The thought makes her giggle, and she feels safe and warm as his own arm come around and wraps around her shoulder, his other hand clasping hers over his chest, just holding on.

They lay together like that for a while, just listening to each other breathe, and Bulma nearly dozes off before she hears Vegeta's voice start softly.

“... Nappa and Raditz used to... to pitch in all their credits on my birthday so they could try and buy me something nice...” 

She turns, looking at him, seeing he's still staring at the ceiling, the smile gone from his face.

“Really? What sort of things would they get you?” She asks carefully after a moment.

This is difficult. It continued to be hard for Bulma to reconcile her experiences with Nappa and Raditz with the way Vegeta sometimes talked about the two of them. The way he spoke about them with this almost longing wistfulness. 

She knows he misses them. Painfully even, some days. And there was the continuing issue of his... seeing them. She can't sugar coat that, she knows. Her brain keeps screaming at her that Vegeta was suffering hallucinations, which was about as plain a sign of mental illness as one could get. She can't lie to herself about that either. It scared her, to know he was having those kinds of problems, and she knows more than likely it was the sort of problem that would require medication of some kind.

Even thinking about trying to get Vegeta to take meds has her head spinning though.

Just in general, Bulma found herself struggling anytime Vegeta brought up his past. 

It was such a delicate subject, and she was always hyper aware of how one wrong move on her part might send him back into total silence and introversion. It had taken a lot of hard work to finally gain his trust enough for this. For him to just voluntarily share stories with her about his life. And she wanted to do all the right things to continue to encourage it. He needed to talk to someone. He needed someone to know. The absolute worst thing was for him to continue to hide, or to repress his memories, like he had with the sexual abuse he'd suffered. 

He'd told her he hadn't remembered what had happened with that one man... what was his name again? Racoom. He hadn't remembered until something she'd said to him during sex had triggered it in his brain, and it had come rushing back.

Oh, her poor man, she thinks. She can't begin to imagine. He'd only been a little boy. And the man who had done this to him... it was one of the same men Vegeta had had to face on Namek. The very same one who had, according to Krillin, beaten Vegeta to a bloody pulp before Goku had arrived. A man Vegeta had had to live in fear of throughout his entire childhood, living in the same space, never knowing when he might show up. Him and his gang, the Ginyu force or whatever they were called, Vegeta had confessed to her had used to harass him and Nappa and Raditz all the time. That it had been like sport to them.

She was relieved that he had told her, finally. That he had let it go to her. She'd known before. She'd known someone had abused him sexually. But she knew better than to force him to confess to it. It was something he'd needed to feel comfortable enough to tell her on his own.

Still, the confirmation was awful. It was one thing to know something abstractly, the way she had. It was another to hear the words come from Vegeta's mouth. His confusion and shame had been terrible to watch. To know especially he'd been living with such terrible feelings for most of his life, with no one to talk to about it... It makes Bulma's throat tight, her heart sick with pain for him at the thought of it.

Bulma still thinks it might be best for Vegeta to have a professional to speak with. A psychiatrist. But she still found herself hesitant to bring that up with him. It was just so difficult, and Vegeta trusted her, in a way he could never trust some stranger, she thinks. She just found herself unsure all the time whether she was telling him the right things. Whether she was helping him at all. 

Gods, she hopes she is.

It was rare then, to say the least, to hear any stories from Vegeta like this. Ones which were actually of happy memories. She wanted to encourage that too. To give him the confidence to talk about what good times he might have had, few and far between as they must have been.

“... H-hair wash and ss-sweets and...” he starts, voice almost shy as it trails off, like he's embarrassed. “nothing very... very special. Just...”

“Sounds pretty cool to me.” Bulma replies, resting her chin on his shoulder.

She means it. It sounded sweet. Kind, even. Modest though, and she thinks maybe that's why he was embarrassed to tell her. Her family's wealth wasn't exactly a secret, the evidence of it everywhere you turned here.

She wonders then what Vegeta's birthday's must have been like, growing up. She imagines him and the two other Saiyan's celebrating by themselves, locked up in their one room. Surrounded by the general hardship and pain of their daily lives, it must have been a subdued celebration. The thought is bleak to her, and she tries to push it away.

“... They were good... good men. I know they must not h... have seemed like it to you but... they were good to me. They tried to be, anyway...”

“I know. I know that Vegeta.” Bulma tells him.

And she means that too.

They didn't seem like good men to her, but then, neither had Vegeta, until she'd gotten to really know him. She knows, if she'd been given the same chance with Nappa and Raditz, her impression of them likely wouldn't be what it is now. It might even be like it was with Vegeta. Finding good men who had simply lived a hellish existence, forced to brutality by the brutality they themselves had suffered. 

For a while Vegeta goes quiet again, and Bulma just enjoys the warmth of him against her.

“... Gohan... Gohan said he wants to come... come by after... school... to... help me...” He starts suddenly, voice fading off, uncertain and again vaguely embarrassed.

Bulma lifts her head, heart kicking in excitement. She can't help the smile which spreads across her lips.

“He talked to you about that?” She starts. “I asked him if he would be interested and he said yes! What did you say?”

Vegeta glances at her a moment before moving his eyes back to the ceiling.

“... I told him he could come if he wanted.” He says. 

“Oh, that's fantastic Vegeta! I know Gohan will be able to help you! He's such a smart kid, and a natural teacher I think. He'll be better suited to helping you with your reading than I am, I'm pretty sure and...”

She trails off, seeing the frown on Vegeta's face.

“Is... I mean, is it alright that I asked him? I was only trying to help and I thought...” she feels suddenly unsure, worried that she's screwed up again. Vegeta wouldn't have accepted Gohan's offer though, if he didn't want it. She doesn't think, anyway.

“... I wish you wouldn't tell people I can't read.” He says bluntly, and now it's Bulma's turn to feel embarrassed.

“Oh.” She starts stupidly. “I'm... I'm sorry Vegeta. I didn't mean... I mean, I've only told Gohan, and only because I thought he could help you. He's really good with languages, you know? So I thought, but... that was stupid of me. I should have asked your permission first. I'm really sorry. I wasn't thinking.”

“... I know you were only trying to help.” Vegeta says after a moment. He doesn't sound angry and Bulma feels almost dizzy with the relief. “I just don't... don't want a lot of people knowing... knowing about that. Trunks figured it out... when we were in that room together. I don't... I don't want a lot of people to know.”

That doesn't surprise Bulma, to hear that Trunks had worked out that Vegeta was illiterate. She'd been able to see right away what a smart young man he was, and had felt proud of the fact. But she knows that must have been awful for Vegeta, for his own son to realize he couldn't really read or write. 

“Okay. I won't tell anyone else. You have my word Vegeta.” She promises. 

“... Thank... thank you.” He stammers.

“And I'm glad you told me Vegeta. I always want you to tell me when I do something you don't like. Okay?” She presses, wanting him to understand that it's alright for him to do that. For him to let her know when he isn't comfortable with something.

“... Yeah.” He answers after a moment.

He turns then, stretching his other arm over her, wrapping her in a hug and pulling her more tightly against him, pressing his lips to her forehead.

There's no place else in the world she would rather be, Bulma thinks then.

No where else than at this man's side.

//

 

It's extraordinary, really, Bulma thinks, how these things keep happening to her.

Also really unfortunate, that humanity seemed intent on making itself look like a mass of useless assholes.

The man with the gun keeps screaming something at them, and all Bulma can think is, she hopes Vegeta doesn't kill him.

And their date had been going so well too.

They'd spent a lovely evening at a buffet restaurant, where Vegeta hadn't had to worry about reading any menu, simply getting to choose what he wanted to eat from the massive array of foods spread out at the bar. Bulma can't remember the last time she'd seen his eyes go wide in almost wonder like that. And though it remained a rare thing to see Vegeta smile, she had been able to tell he was excited. He'd talked more than usual, and had ended up going back four times to fill his plate. 

The other restaurant goers had of course stared, and continued staring as Vegeta had worked through each serving with his usual, extraordinary apatite. Bulma had only smiled at them.

She didn't care anymore what anyone thought.

Vegeta was her man, and she was proud to call him that. 

Afterward they'd decided to just go for a walk together, and that had been going great too, Bulma with her arm hooked around Vegeta's own, their fingers intertwined as they'd enjoyed the cooler night air and the lights of the city.

Vegeta still looked around him with the interest and confusion of someone who wasn't from here, an almost innocent awe in his eyes at the heights of the skyscrapers and the flashing neon signs. Bulma found it so endearing that at times she had to repress the urge to wrap him in a hug and squeeze him to her. He was like a little kid, asking endless questions, wanting to know what this or that thing was, why people did that, what these things were for. On and on. He was interested in culture, and society, and the way things worked. 

Bulma thinks she'll never be able to understand how it was Vegeta could be so unaware of his own intelligence. He spoke about it in such disparaging tones, most of the time. But all you had to do was talk with him a few minutes to see how incredibly sharp his mind was. He was brilliant, in truth. He saw so much, and understood things so quickly. Especially anything mechanical. Or you could show him any map and he had the most stunning ability to look at it once and have a total grasp of the area. His sense of direction and ability to navigate was unbelievable. To understand terrain and gauge with his naked eye the depth or width of any kind of landscape. Gorges, canyons, mountain ranges, etc... Or his ability to predict what the weather was going to do.

There'd been countless times when there hadn't been a cloud in the sky, or any remote sign of stormy weather at all, when the weather forecaster himself had said it was going to be sunshine all day, and Vegeta had told her it was going to rain, or snow, or even hail, and without fail, it always ended up doing exactly what he said it would. It was uncanny.

Vegeta may not have had any sort of formal education, but his instincts and worldly experience were the best Bulma had ever seen. If it came down to being in a survival situation, and she had a choice between her having her most educated friends and colleagues at her side, or Vegeta, she wouldn't hesitate for a moment to choose Vegeta. Even supposing he didn't possess his super human physical abilities, she would choose him, simply because he understood situations more quickly and accurately than anyone she had ever known.

She supposes that relates to the situation they were in now.

If she'd been alone, or with one of her work friends, she'd be pissing her pants right about now, she guesses.

But Vegeta is here, and she feels no fear at all.

“Jewels and cash bitch, right now!”

The man brandishes the gun, waving it recklessly between them.

Bulma glances sidelong at Vegeta, seeing him staring up at the man with an emotionless face before he grabs hold of her suddenly, pushing her behind him.

The man smirks.

“Where'd you find the midget babe?” He laughs. “I can still see you over the top of this shrimps head.”

“You should probably shut up now.” Bulma can't help snapping back, a shot of anger exploding inside her chest at the bastards childish insult.

The man laughs again.

“Or what? You'll sick your guard dog on me? This fucker's too short to even suck my...”

Vegeta moves too fast for Bulma to see what he even does. Only she blinks and a moment later he's holding the man's gun in his hand, the barrel between his fingers, and the man's face twists in horror as Vegeta crushes the metal as easily as he would a piece of paper, until the gun is crumpled and useless, and Vegeta drops it to the ground like trash.

“What the fu...” the man starts, but the words don't get a chance to leave his mouth before Vegeta moves quick as lightening, laying a turn heel kick right into his teeth. The guy goes down like a sack of bricks, blood spurting from his mouth,

Bulma stares wide eyed for a moment, her mouth falling open. She only given a moment to watch, her mind telling her the man sure as hell wasn't getting back up, when she feels Vegeta's hand clamp over her forearm, tugging her gently against him.

“Come on.” He says, beginning to move, pulling her past the moaning heap on the ground that had been their assailant.

“Are we... just gonna leave him there?” Bulma asks, glancing back at the man. 

She can't help the relief she feels that Vegeta hadn't tried to kill the idiot. 

“Yes.” Vegeta answers, continuing to move and pull her along.

Bulma can't help it. She laughs.

Vegeta turns, looking at her, his face confused.

“Why are you laughing?” He asks after a moment, and Bulma grins at him, laying her head on his shoulder.

“My hero!” She exclaims.

“Tch.” He huffs, looking away, letting her arm go.

Bulma hooks it back through his own, her head still on his shoulder as they walk.

“Seriously.” She says. “I think that guy must've lost a few front teeth.” 

“... Whole top row.” Vegeta says, glancing at her, and Bulma sees the smirk curl up the corner of his mouth.

Bulma's own smile broadens, and she leans in closer, pressing her lips to Vegeta's cheek.

“My handsome man...” she breathes quietly to him. “thank you.”

He doesn't say anything back. Only reaches up, laying his hand along the back of her head, pressing his own, soft kiss to her crown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, a huge thank you to all my readers! Hope you continue to enjoy!


	50. Chapter 50

“Just try to be nice, okay?”

Krillin looks up at 18, trying to gauge what she's thinking.

He hadn't been able to calm his nerves about this visit since Bulma had told him it was okay to come over with 18. 

He was being ridiculous, he knows. It had been his idea, after all. He wanted all of his friends to meet 18. To get to know her. He knows it was going to be hard, for everyone to accept her, to even trust her, after everything that had happened.

It isn't lost on Krillin, the irony of the situation. The way it parallels Bulma's own with Vegeta.

He never thought he would be in a similar position. 

Being so had only given him a better appreciation for what Bulma had endured. For her patience and determination to stick by Vegeta's side throughout all of the backlash and skepticism of all her friends, including Krillin himself.

Of course it had been Bulma who had been the most readily accepting of his starting a relationship with 18. The only one who had outwardly encouraged it, and congratulated him on it.

It wasn't that anyone else had been opposed to it. It was just... Krillin could see the nervousness in their eyes whenever he and 18 showed up together somewhere. He couldn't miss the way they looked at her with suspicion.

It only made Krillin feel more guilty, for how he knew he'd done the exact same thing with Vegeta.

Speaking of Vegeta, it was that particular encounter that had Krillin so nervous now.

Things hadn't... exactly gone good between him and 18, the last time they'd met.

18 had really worked Vegeta over. Broken his arm. Nearly killed him. Would have killed him, probably, if she hadn't gotten distracted by going after Goku.

And then there was what happened after. Vegeta letting Cell absorb 18. He knows 18 was still pissed about that. And that's what had him worried. If a fight broke out between them...

Krillin is pretty sure Vegeta was stronger than her now. But 18 was still frighteningly powerful, and the thought of the two of them going at it was just... 

He doesn't even want to think about it. Honestly.

And then there were Krillin's changing feelings towards Vegeta.

The Saiyan had really seemed to change in his eyes, since the fight with Cell. Krillin had even gone up to talk to him on his own, the other day during his birthday party, and though Vegeta hadn't said much, he still talked a little. Had almost even been nice. Krillin still remembers feeling bowled over when Vegeta had told him he'd fought bravely out there against Cell. That he should be proud of himself. Krillin hadn't even known how to respond to that. To Vegeta telling him he'd fought well, and that he should be proud. It was such a change from anything the Saiyan had ever said to him before. It was...

Well, Krillin couldn't help feeling a little proud then. Vegeta was so immensely powerful, and such a gifted fighter. To have him say something like that to him had been incredible.

“I'll try.” 18 tells him, pulling him from his thoughts, her face in its usual, stoic expression.

Krillin bites his lip. 

“O-okay.” He says. “Let's go then.”

It's Mrs. Briefs that lets them in, her usual, cheery self.

“Oh, hi Krillin! And this must be the lovely young lady Bulma was telling me about!”

“Y-yeah. Hi Mrs. Briefs. This, uh... this is 18. My, uh, I guess my... girl... friend...”

Krillin can feel his face burn as he says it, glancing quickly up at 18 to see if she objects to his use of the term. But her face remains passive as she stares at Bulma's mother.

“Oh! Eighteen? What an unusual name! But beautiful!” 

18 doesn't respond to that, but Mrs. Briefs doesn't seemed fazed. Nothing seemed to faze Bulma's mom, Krillin thinks. 

“Is Bulma around?” He asks, trying to direction attention away from the awkward situation. 

“Certainly!” Mrs. Briefs replies. “She's down in her lab working, I believe. But I can go and call her for you. Would you like to wait in the kitchen? I was just about to start making some lunch, if you two darlings are hungry?”

Krillin smiles at that, rubbing the back of his head and nodding.

“Sure! That sounds great!” He looks up at 18. “You wanna go eat?” He asks.

She looks down at him, smiling that obscure way she does.

“Why not?” She answers, and Krillin feels his heart leap. He swears he's falling in love with this girl. He holds out his hand and feels stupidly proud at the way she takes it.

It was almost heady, being with a woman who he knew could kill him with no trouble at all. 

It's only after they walk through the kitchen entry and Krillin sees Vegeta sitting at the breakfast table, digging into a sandwich, that he realizes he'd forgotten to ask where the Saiyan was.

Fuck, he wishes he had. 

He never would have come here if he'd known.

He feels his heart kick sick in his chest when Vegeta looks up at them, his eyes momentarily widening at the sight of 18, and a second later he's on his feet, crouching low like he's getting ready to fight.

“What the fuck is that thing doing here?!” He spits.

Krillin isn't given a chance to answer before he feels himself pulled backwards, 18 grabbing hold of his arm and pushing him behind her.

“What? You wanting that other arm of yours broken monkey?” 18 says, voice flat and emotionless, and Krillin thinks he's gonna pass out from horror.

Oh gods...

He feels the air pressure drop, the rush of what sounds like a freight train booming loud, the lights in the kitchen flickering as Vegeta immediately expands his ki, turning Super Saiyan.

“Try it you fucking bitch.” He says, voice bizarrely calm to match 18's own, and now Krillin really thinks he is going to pass out. This wasn't happening. This really wasn't happening.

“H-hey, guys, can we not.. not do this? Please!” He tries. 

It's like getting between two tigers, Krillin thinks dismally as, predictably, neither 18 or Vegeta answer him.

“Oh, if you really want me to.” 18 steps forward, and if Vegeta feels any fear towards her after what happened in their last fight, he shows none of it at all, stepping forward to meet her, his face a mask of brutal intent. Like he looked the first time Krillin had met him, back when he'd arrived on Earth with that other Saiyan.

Oh good gods...

“Stop it you two.” Bulma's voice cuts through the air, and Krillin can only watch in amazement as she saunters into the kitchen seemingly unfazed by the world threatening violence that seemed like it was just about to break out. “I don't want to have to pay to repair my kitchen because you two want to pick back up for another round.”

She reaches out, putting her hand on Vegeta's forearm, the Saiyan's muscles vibrating with visible tension. He looks at her, his hair like a golden flame burning atop his head, eyes startlingly green.

“Vegeta...” she says, more softly, and with his name the tension seems to drain completely out of him, the gold of his hair going out, fading back to the reddish brown of his usual color, eyes their normal dark hue. His arms drop from their defensive stance, and he turns, folding his arms over his chest, face turned to the floor.

“... She called me a monkey.” Krillin hears him say, barely audible, and Bulma turns, her eyes locking on 18 with such a look of withering disapproval, Krillin finds himself feeling ashamed.

“Well that's what he is, isn't it?” 18 replies coolly, her own arms folding over her chest.

For an instant, Krillin sees actual rage flash through Bulma's eyes, and he feels sick.

“No.” She says flatly. “It isn't. You shouldn't call people name's when you don't know what meaning those name's have to them, 18.”

Bulma was either the bravest person on the planet, or she was completely crazy, Krillin thinks. He doesn't know how she had the guts to talk to these people the way she did.

18's head tilts to the side, examining Bulma as if she's trying to figure out the same thing.

“He started it by calling me that thing.” She responds after a moment. “I was just responding in kind.”

“Then you were both wrong.” Bulma says back quickly. “Don't call him a monkey though. Don't do that 18. It's hurtful to him for reasons you can't understand. Okay?”

For a moment it looks like 18 is going to say something sarcastic, and Krillin feels himself tense, terrified, before she sighs, rolling her eyes and shrugging.

“Alright. Fine. Whatever.” She says. “I didn't come here to play around with him anyway.”

Vegeta lets loose a deep growl at that.

“Fuck this!” He snaps, turning and blowing past all of them, out the kitchen.

“Oh my!” Mrs. Briefs exclaims as Vegeta pushes past her on his way out.

The room falls silent immediately after, awkward and tense.

“Shit.” Bulma mutters.

“I'm sorry Bulma.” Krillin starts, feeling awful. “I didn't mean...”

Bulma shakes her head.

“It's alright. Look, why don't you two just wait here and Mom'll make you some lunch. I've gotta go check on him.”

“O-okay.” Krillin agrees reluctantly. Gods, he really feels awful. 

Bulma doesn't wait for anyone to say anything else before she's gone.

“18!” He turns to her, frustrated. “I thought you said you were gonna be nice!”

“I said I would try.” She answers. “And like I said before, he started it. I was perfectly willing to just ignore him the whole time. But if he really wants to get his face beat in that badly, I'll be happy to oblige.”

Krillin puts his hands over his face, stifling the scream which wants to escape his throat.

Maybe this really was a bad idea...

//

Stupid... stupid fucking bitch. 

Wants to... wants to go back and kill... kill her. Wants to smash her stupid fucking face to pieces. Wants...

Breathe in... out... in...

Has to calm down. Has to...

Can't do that. Can't do that anymore. Not with Bulma. Has to remember, can't just...

Wants to kill that stupid bitch android though. Wants to kill her. Couldn't... couldn't stand... couldn't stand anyone talking like that... like that to him. Wants to...

Thought she was better than him. Would show her. Would... would show her who was better. Fucking... bitch...

Was a prince... was... He was a prince. He was...

Bulma loved him. Bulma wouldn't love him if... if he was... was worthless... Bulma was better than all of them. Better than...

Breathe in... out...

“That's it little man. You're doin' good.”

Nappa in his periphery again. Doesn't matter. Doesn't. Just has to...

“Hey...” Bulma's there. Came after him. Always comes after him. Never lets him... never leaves him... 

Looks up at her. Glad she's there. Glad. Doesn't want to be...

“You alright?” She asks. Looks away.

“I'm fine.” Answers. Doesn't feel fine. Feels like he's gonna explode. Wants to... “S-sorry. I'm sorry for...”

Shakes her head.

“No. Don't be. It's alright. I should have told you beforehand that Krillin was coming over with her. I meant to, I just got distracted by what I was working on in the lab and it slipped my mind. This is my fault.”

Doesn't know what to say to that. Only looks at her. Doesn't understand why... Krillin would bring the android over. Why would...

“They're together.” Bulma says. Always seems to know what he's thinking. Doesn't know how she does that. “Krillin and 18. They're... a couple, I guess. I guess he's been wanting to introduce her to everyone in a better context than how... well, how it all went down the first time.”

Together? Like... what did Bulma call them that one time? Boy friend and girl friend?

Blinks. Doesn't understand. She was an android. Doesn't understand how that works.

Bulma shrugs. She feels awkward, he thinks. Like she doesn't know how to explain it herself.

“I couldn't tell Krillin no. I mean, that would have been completely hypocritical, considering...” voice trails off. Hesitant look on her face. Guilty look. “He says she isn't a bad person. He's really into her, ya know?”

Doesn't know. Doesn't understand. Was an android. Wasn't a person at all. Was she? Doesn't know what a person's supposed to be, guesses. 

Hates her though. Hates the fucking bitch. Wants to... wants to...

Soft fingers touch his hand, hold tight to it. 

“Come back and finish your lunch?” She asks. 

Doesn't want to go back there. Thinks he'll... thinks he'll lose it, if he...

“This is your home as much as it is mine Vegeta.” Bulma says, hand squeezing his. Soft, warm skin against his rough, ugly hand. “Nobody should be allowed to make you feel uncomfortable in it, or drive you out of any part of it.”

“... I... I don't want to...” shakes his head. Doesn't know how to say it. “Don't want to lose it... I don't want to lose it.”

“You won't.” She says. Says it like she knows, somehow. Reaches up, lays her hand against his face. “Have faith in yourself Vegeta. Whatever she says doesn't matter. It doesn't mean anything to you. Okay?”

Doesn't want to disappoint Bulma, thinks. Doesn't want her to think he's weak.

Wasn't afraid of the android. Would kill her now. If they fought. He would kill her. Isn't afraid. Just... doesn't want to lose it. Doesn't want to make Bulma upset. Was afraid of that. That's what he was afraid of.

“... Alright.” Tells her. Wants her to be happy. 

Had to stay calm, was all. Not get mad. 

Nappa always telling him not to get mad. Always told him it was a weakness, getting mad in a fight. Always had that problem. Always got so mad, all the time...

Sees Nappa now standing just behind Bulma. Shaking his head.

“You can't do it little man.” Says.

Looks away.

Wants to tell Nappa to shut up.

Doesn't say anything though.

Doesn't say anything at all.

//

 

Bulma leaves.

Says she's going to get Trunks from her father. Having trouble with him, she says. Says she'll be right back. Says she'll just be a couple minutes. 

Wants to tell her no. Wants to tell her not to leave him here alone with... with...

Can feel the android looking at him.

Calm... calm. Just don't look at her. Look at the food. Was hungry still. Only ate a little before they showed up anyway. Wants to finish it. Keep focused on that, thinks. Bulma would be back soon.

“Do all Saiyans need to eat as much as you do?”

“18...” the midget... Krillin sounds frustrated. Almost angry.

“I'm just curious.” Android keeps talking. Wants her to shut up. Wants her to... “You seem to need a lot of food. I don't need to eat at all, being an android. We have limitless energy. But you already found out about that, I guess.”

Shut up. Wants her to...

“So I'm just wondering, do you need to eat that much to keep up your energy or something? Or are you just glutenous? I'm surprised they can afford to keep you in this house, the way you keep stuffing your face...”

Voice fades. Haze... Haze in his head. Buzzing haze.

Remembers deep, numbing pain in his guts. Go days, sometimes weeks with hardly anything to eat. Pain so bad and constant, almost got used to it, after a while. Always that pain in his guts. Couldn't get away from it. Pain and dizziness. Always dizzy and sick. Head spinning. Felt faint all the time. Passed out, remembers. Used to pass out all the time, when he'd been younger. Before he'd gotten used to it. 

To not eating...

No food anywhere for dumb, stinking animals like them...

“Hey, are you listening to me?” 

Androids voice comes rushing back in. Hates it. Hates her stupid fucking voice. Wants to... wants... wants...

“18, stop.” Krillin. Krillin tells her. Sounds angry now. Doesn't know if he's ever heard him sound so angry. Except... except that time maybe. Was going to kill him, remembers. Had been trying to escape. Been scared. Really scared. Remembers not knowing...

Not knowing what he was going to do. Where he was going to go.

Nappa was dead, remembers thinking. Had killed him himself. Killed Nappa. Raditz dead too, and been alone. He'd been alone and didn't... never been alone like that before... completely alone... even when Nappa and Raditz had been gone for days, weeks sometimes, always... always knew they'd be coming back... not anymore then... not anymore... didn't know what to do, remembers. Instinct to get away, somehow. Was all. Known he'd lost, then. Known he'd lost... he'd lost... beaten bad... beaten up... no strength left to even move... and would have... Krillin would have killed him if Kakarott hadn't... hadn't...

“Just leave him alone.” Krillin talking. Telling the android. 

Doesn't know why... Doesn't know why Krillin is...

“I'm sorry Vegeta.”

Krillin's hand suddenly on his. Starts. Stares down at it. Tiny hand laying on his. Confused. Thinks he should pull away, only can't seem to react. Doesn't... doesn't understand what...

“Hey, are you alright?”

Looks up. Sees Krillin looking at him. Worried look on his face. 

Doesn't know what to say. No words coming to his brain.

“If you want us to leave, we will.” Krillin says. “I didn't mean to make this uncomfortable for anyone.”

Wasn't...

Wasn't his decision...

… Was it?

Bulma said... 

Said this was his home... said it was... 

Loud huff. Eyes slide to the android. Sees her eyes roll.

Bitch... wants to... wants to put her teeth down her throat...Wants...

“I'm back!”

Like air rushing back into his lungs. Bulma's there. Holding Trunks in her arms. Smiles as she comes towards him and like he can breathe again... everything else fades away...

“Here you go babe. You wanna hold him?”

Holding Trunks out to him. His son. Watches him squirm and kick and laugh as Bulma holds him under the arms.

Reaches out for him, and that's like he can breathe too. Solid weight of his son in his hands. Knows he's real. Knows he's alive.

Been fear there... awful fear since... since watching Trunks die in... in front of him. Awful fear. Kept thinking... kept thinking something would happen now... woke up and thought... heart beating with sick fear and had to... had to go and see him. Had to go and make sure... make sure he was alright...

“Papa!”

Boy looks up at him. Eyes huge and bright. Same color as Bulma's eyes. Looks up at him and smiles, hands reaching up.

Bulma sitting next to him.

“Here, like this. Cradle him in the crook of your arm.” Bulma's hands on him, soft fingers brushing against his skin. 

People talking. Saying something. Doesn't hear them. Doesn't matter.

The weight of his son in his arms. Bulma there, beside him. Doesn't matter, the rest of it. Doesn't matter. Long as they're here. 

Long as they want him here with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thank you all so much again for reading! I hope you enjoyed the chapter. I know 18 is coming off as a bit of an asshole in this chapter, but lets just chalk it up to her still trying to adjust to the civilian life. She was a villain to start with, after all, and has only been on the good guy side for a few weeks at this point. So I hope that wasn't too much. Sorry for not replying to your guys' comments on the last chapter either! I've been pretty busy the last week or so. But just to answer one of them, asking how long I planned on continuing the story. The answer is is I really don't know, lol. I guess until I catch up to current continuity with DB Super, or until I can't come up with any more ideas, haha. Anyway, thanks again guys and if you get a chance, leave a comment!


	51. Chapter 51

“I'm tellin' you man, this girl was fucking gorgeous! I can't believe you didn't notice her?!”

Raditz frowns as Vegeta doesn't say anything. Doesn't even look up at him from his food, really. 

Worry twists Raditz' insides.

Seems like more and more lately there was always something else he worried about with Vegeta. He always had. He knows that. But lately...

Vegeta had just turned 17. He was technically a man now. And he still showed, far as Raditz could tell, no kind of interest at all in girls. 

Women were one of the only ways to find relief from the hell of their daily lives. Him and Nappa had always known that. Hell, Raditz had had his first sexual encounter when he'd been 12. Nappa had brought him to a whore house on one of their first missions together and ever since it had been one of the only things any of them had had to look forward to when carting themselves off to whatever new planet they were meant to purge. There were some beautiful women to be found among the countless races of beings out there. Damn, Raditz had had more than his fair share of ugly women too. But a woman was a woman, and he wasn't about to complain. 

Vegeta though... 

Raditz is pretty damn sure Vegeta's never had sex. 

Nappa was so worried about it that he'd convinced himself Vegeta must have, at some point. But Raditz really doesn't think so. Whenever him and Nappa went off to the whore houses together, even when Vegeta went with them, he'd never seen their prince go into any rooms with anyone. He'd wait out in the front, and when the two of them were finished, they'd find Vegeta exactly where they'd left him, just sitting there, stony face turned to the floor, arms crossed over his chest, defensive and uncomfortable. It happened less and less frequently that Vegeta even came. Usually he just went off into a different part of the city. And whenever Raditz or Nappa started talking about girls, Vegeta showed no interest. Raditz had never seen a guy Vegeta's age so indifferent towards sex.

He didn't know anything. The few times he'd asked questions had given that away. He didn't know what a woman's body was supposed to be. How things worked. Raditz doesn't think, even if Vegeta had a woman, he would have any idea what to do with her.

It made Raditz uncomfortable to think about.

Nappa was scared Vegeta was queer. Raditz had worried about that too. All the stupid grunts on base said it about him. Raditz always heard those fuckers snickering and laughing to themselves whenever they walked by, calling Vegeta a faggot under their breath. Vegeta heard it too. But Vegeta didn't know what that word meant, and him and Nappa wouldn't tell him the truth. 

But when he really thinks about it, Raditz doesn't think Vegeta's queer either. He never caught Vegeta looking at guys the way he probably would be, if he was. And there were plenty of places to go for that kind of thing, if that was what you wanted. But the same way Vegeta didn't seem to know or care about women, he showed no interest or knowledge at all of those kinds of places where you could fuck a guy instead.

He just wasn't... interested in sex, for some reason. Raditz can't figure out why. But... there were a lot of things about Vegeta that confused and scared Raditz.

He'd gotten stranger and stranger over the years they'd been here. More and more quiet. He hardly ever spoke at all any more. Sometimes he'd go days without saying a single word to any of them. And his temper had become even worse. Gods, when Vegeta lost his temper...

There'd been more than a few times Raditz had been terrified Vegeta would kill him and Nappa. He just got so violently angry sometimes, seemingly out of no where.

Raditz knows it's 'cause of everything that's happened to him here. He knows Vegeta's brain's been messed up by it all. He had it so much worse than any of them. Living in that constant fear, taking that many beatings and whippings. Never knowing when Frieza and his right hand men were going to turn their sadistic cruelty on him, what they were going to do to him this time...

They mostly just ignored him and Nappa. Neither of them were important or powerful enough to warrant any kind of real attention. But Vegeta was a prince. The son of their once king, and he had massive potential. It made him both too valuable as a tool to Frieza to just get rid of. But it also made him a possible threat. And Frieza wasn't ever going to let that happen. He knew better than anyone how to keep powerful beings under his control. He'd terrorized Vegeta into submission. Like he'd done everyone in this place. But because of who Vegeta was, and what he could become if he were allowed to... he'd been a special project of Frieza's from the start. 

Raditz tries to push those thoughts from his head. He hates them. He hates what this place has done to all of them. He hates most of all what it's done to Vegeta. 

He almost chokes on his food when he looks up and sees Ginyu and his gang coming into the canteen.

“Shit...” he breathes, and Vegeta looks up at him finally.

“What?” He asks, the tension already winding visibly into his frame.

Raditz nods towards Ginyu, keeping his eyes on the group of elites.

“Ginyu.” He says quietly.

The color drains instantly out of Vegeta's face, and he turns, looking back over his shoulder. He turns back quickly, face lining with anxiousness.

“Hurry up and eat your food. They'll see us.” He says, and Raditz understands what he means.

This was the only meal either of them were going to get today. Nappa was off base on a mission. If Ginyu and his gang saw them, they'd dump their food on the floor, and that would be it for them. It was so fucking petty, but that's what those bastards were. They loved to pick on the three of them. Especially Vegeta...

The two of them scarf down what's left of their meal as fast as they can, Raditz' eyes flicking up to Ginyu every few seconds to see if they'd been spotted yet.

“Fuck...” he starts when he sees Jeice look their way. Sees the red skinned mother fucker gesturing towards them, laughing.

Vegeta doesn't even ask if they've been spotted. He knows.

“Let's go.” He says, standing.

Ginyu and the rest are already striding towards them though. They'll never make it out without a confrontation, Raditz thinks dismally. They can only pray the fuckers get bored fast.

“Wait, Vegeta...” Raditz starts to say. It's too late though. Vegeta turns and runs smack into Ginyu's massive frame.

Ginyu smiles down at him, that sick grin he always had, hands planted on his hips.

Raditz want's to kill the bastard. Wants to kill all of them. 

“Where do you think you're going little fella?” He asks Vegeta, voice dripping with that condescending tone. They loved to make fun of how small Vegeta was. Treated him like he was a child still. 

“Get the fuck out of our way Ginyu!” Vegeta growls, already sounding like he was gonna lose it. Didn't matter that Vegeta knew he was outmatched. He was too proud. He'd get into a fight over it. He'd get hurt then and Raditz couldn't do anything about it. Couldn't stop it. Damn it all to hell...

“Oh ho, ho, listen to the little monkey chatter!” Ginyu laughs, the rest of the assholes joining in. “You want us outta the way, little monkey? Well then, why don't you make us?”

Raditz feels his heart kick hard in his chest, tingling dread already starting to coil tight in his gut. This wasn't good. This really wasn't good. He wishes Nappa were here. Nappa wasn't any match against any of these fuckers, except maybe Guldo. But he knew how to calm Vegeta down better than Raditz could.

He can see Vegeta's tail puff, bristling with his barely checked rage as he glares up at Ginyu, his hands curling to fists at his sides.

“Fuck you!” Vegeta snarls, and the group only laughs harder.

“Where's your lunch Vegeta?” Jeice starts now, stepping closer. “You didn't eat it all down already, did you? You know you aren't supposed to do that 'till you've got our permission.”

Vegeta loses it then. Raditz knew he would, and he feels his stomach drop, watching as his prince launches himself at Jeice, reckless with blind fury. He doesn't even have time to get a plea past his lips before Jeice easily dodges Vegeta's attack, and in an instant has his arms around him, turning and pinning him with his back to Jeice's chest, his arms trapped at his sides.

Vegeta struggles madly, his face burning with his anger, cursing violently, and Jeice laughs.

“Just calm down sweetheart. You know what happens when you break the rules.”

Raditz feels sick. He should do something. He needs to do something. Only he doesn't know what. He doesn't know how to make them stop. If he wasn't so fucking useless, too god damned weak to do anything!

“L-ll-let me g-go you mo-mother... mother fucker! Let me g-go!” Vegeta howls, voice stammering with his rage.

“Listen to that mouth!” Guldo laughs. “Stupid ape!”

Raditz' eyes snap to him, murderous desire taking hard hold. Guldo was the weakest of the group. Not nearly as strong as Vegeta or Nappa, or even himself. Raditz could kill him easy, except... 

The only reason Ginyu had let the fat fuck into his gang was because of that damned ability he had to freeze time. He could freeze it only as long as he could hold his breath, but that was usually long enough for the bastard to get out of harms way of anyone's attacks. He couldn't fight for shit, but he acted like the toughest fucker around because he knew he had protection from the rest of the group. 

Raditz had never wanted more to tear the bitch's throat out. The way he talked to Vegeta, who was so much his superior in every way...

Who was all of their's superior, the bastards...

“Give him here!” Racoom starts, and Raditz can see Vegeta's entire face drain of color, his expression momentarily going naked with fear. Out of all of Ginyu's gang, it was Racoom that scared him the most. Raditz doesn't know why. Only knows Vegeta was terrified of him. 

Jeice physically lifts Vegeta off the ground, tossing him through the air towards Racoom, the giant fuck catching hold of him and instantly pinning him to the ground. He forces Vegeta's arms over his head, clasping his wrists together in a single one of his massive hands, planting his knees against Vegeta's thighs to keep him from kicking up as he leans over him, leering down at him with that fucking creepy expression he always had.

Vegeta struggles only a moment. It's plainly obvious that he isn't nearly strong enough to break free of Racoom's hold. He looks like a young child compared to the massive bulk of the elite.

Raditz can't stand it. His head feels like it's going to explode with fear and frustration. Everyone in the canteen was looking now. All the other grunts and soldiers. Laughing and pointing.

“You know you ain't supposed to eat 'less we give you permission, Veggie!” Racoom starts, leaning closer, and Vegeta turns his face aside, his chest heaving with anger and fear, his limbs vibrating, trapped against the hard floor. “Guess we'll just have to correct your fuck up, huh?”

Racoom reaches down with his free hand, grabbing hard hold of Vegeta's face and forcing it back around.

Raditz' brain shorts out for a second, not understanding what he's seeing at first as Racoom suddenly and violently forces two, thick fingers past Vegeta's teeth, into his mouth. Vegeta isn't expecting it either, his eyes going wide with shock and terror, the whites of them visible all the way round, and a moment later Raditz understands what the son of a bitch is doing.

Vegeta gags, convulsing terribly as Racoom shoves his fingers down his throat. 

He doesn't pull his fingers free even as Vegeta begins to vomit, starting to choke as the bile is forced back down his throat.

“NO!” Raditz cries, and he doesn't think, rushing forward and barreling shoulder first into Racoom, knocking him from Vegeta.

He hears Vegeta gasp desperately, expelling the vomit onto the ground. Raditz jumps to his feet, turning towards him, needing to help him. He sees Vegeta's not even partially digested meal from a few minutes before spilled out on the floor, Vegeta on his hands and knees beside it, choking and gasping as he tries reflexively to clear his lungs, face contorted in pain.

Raditz doesn't make it more than a couple of steps towards him, starting to call out his name, before he feels himself grabbed from behind by a pair of absurdly powerful arms, pulling him back, and in a moment he feels himself trapped in the same position Jeice had had Vegeta in moments ago, his back to a broad, muscular chest, his arms pinned at his sides.

Raditz knows Racoom has him. He can't believe how strong he is. He can't believe it.

“That was a mistake, monkey.” Racoom breathes against his ear. “You clowns usually know better than to get involved, don't you?”

“Fuck you!” Raditz spits. He knows it's a mistake. He knows he's only making this worse. But he can't stop. His head spins with rage. He wants to kill them. He wants to kill all of the fucking bastards for daring to lay their hands on Vegeta. For daring to...

His thoughts fracture apart as agony shoots through him, Racoom's powerful grip crushing down on his tail, his body going numb, paralyzed with the pain.

“Looks like this still works on one of you.” Racoom says, squeezing harder, and Raditz feels his knees give out, and he collapses to the floor.

Stupid, he thinks distantly. That had been stupid, giving his back to his enemy. Should have known better than that. Nappa and Vegeta both would chew him out for it.

Too late now, he thinks. Was probably gonna get killed now. Feels Racoom's thick forearm wrap across his throat, pulling tight, and he can't breathe suddenly. Feels his windpipe being crushed. Can hear a pathetic, desperate choking noise, and somehow he knows it's him. Knows he's being choked to death.

Can't see anything for a moment. Knows his eyes are wide and staring, but he can't see. Feels himself clawing uselessly at Racoom's arm, feels his legs kicking out, trying to break free. But Racoom is too strong. Much too strong and he can't. He can't get away. He's going to die, and then Vegeta... Vegeta's going to...

Sees Vegeta stagger to his feet in front of him. Sees his face. A mask of pure fury. Teeth bared and vicious and sharp. Sees the pupils of Vegeta's eyes wash out with the glow of his ki exploding around him, and his ears fill with his prince's enraged cry.

“GET THE FUCK OFF OF HIM!” Hears Vegeta scream, and the sound of the air around them compressing as he launches forward.

He can hear the crack of bone, and the wave of impact hits him as Racoom's hold on him releases suddenly, the elite soldier knocked violently away with the power of Vegeta's attack. Raditz falls forward, gasping desperately as he pulls air into his lungs, painful and frantic.

It seems to take too long for his head to clear. Only when it does he can hear Vegeta cursing, his voice raw with anger and hatred and terror, clipped and broken with emotion.

“You fucking... f-fucking... piece of shh-shit! Shit, fucking piece of shit! I fucking hh-hate you! I fucking HATE YOU!”

Raditz turns, sees Vegeta sitting on top of Racoom. His knees straddling the elite soldiers chest. Bringing his fists down again and again and again against Racoom's face. Sees blood spurt and fly up into the air with each hit, Racoom's arms splayed out seemingly useless at his sides. Can hear the crack of his skull against the ground with each blow Vegeta lands.

For a moment Raditz thinks, wildly, Racoom is actually out. That Vegeta's somehow managed to knock the bastard cold. Only as his vision clears, he can see the sick grin plastered across Racoom's face, even as blood smears across his teeth, his face breaking apart with the impact of Vegeta's punches. 

“Th-that's the s-spirit monkey!” He manages to laugh between blows, and Raditz feels his heart sink in fear. He wasn't even really hurt. Despite Vegeta attacking him with everything he had, Racoom wasn't even really hurt. 

Oh gods...

He looks up at Vegeta, his prince's features twisted in horrible rage, and he sees the tears thick in Vegeta's eyes, pouring down his cheeks as he punches down against Racoom's face with everything he has. 

He keeps cursing, “H-hate you, you ffu-fuck... you ffucker... fucking hate you!”

Racoom keeps laughing, taunting him, and Vegeta's punches come slower as his strength begins to wain. But he doesn't stop. He just keeps laying his fists against Racoom's face, the impact weaker and weaker, tears continuing to stream from his eyes.

“That's enough of that monkey.” Ginyu comes up suddenly, his hand wrapping round Vegeta's wrist as he rears it back for another blow. He lifts Vegeta up in a single, swift move, picking him up bodily, easily as he would a child.

Vegeta twists viciously in his hold, growling and spitting and hissing, fighting uselessly to break free, and Raditz feels his eyes burn, struggling and failing as he tries to stand, to do something, anything.

But he can't.

Can only watch as Ginyu clamps down over Vegeta wrists, stilling his arms as he extends them, locking them at the elbows. And then he's pressing his hand to the back of Vegeta's crown, and in the next moment driving his head downward against the hard cement flooring of the canteen with all the force of his immense strength.

Vegeta goes immediately limp, his body crumpling, and Raditz stares in horror at the thick pool of blood which begins oozing out from beneath his head, spreading wide around and soaking his hair. He sees Vegeta's body convulse once, and then fall still completely.

“NO!” He hears himself cry, stumbling as he struggles again to get to his feet. He staggers, falling once more to his knees, and he crawls then. He crawls towards Vegeta's unmoving form, a sick, consuming terror closing up his throat, making him nauseous. He's dead, Raditz thinks horribly. Vegeta's dead. Ginyu's just killed him. He's just crushed his skull in. Oh gods, gods, please no...

Can hear Ginyu and the others muttering something. Can't make it out. Is only vaguely aware of they're leaving. Of they're walking away. Doesn't look at them. Can't. Vegeta's... Vegeta's not moving... doesn't seem to be breathing... Blood... Oh gods, there's so much blood... so much...

Reaches him finally, reaches out for him, laying his hands on him. Breathing. He can feel Vegeta breathing still. The relief is like a punch to his gut.

He shouldn't... he needs to get him to... needs to get him to medical. He needs to get Vegeta...

Turns him over slowly. The floor is cratered and broken apart where Vegeta's skull impacted it, and his skull... oh gods... Vegeta's skull is crushed in, above his brow ridge... the skin split grotesquely wide and blood is pouring ceaselessly from it, the bone visible and crushed... oh, please gods, don't let him be...

“Vegeta!” Raditz cries, calling his name desperately. Can hear his own voice broken apart with sobs and can't help it. “Vegeta, oh gods, please... please...!”

Sees Vegeta's eyelids flutter and come open. Sees his prince look up, sight glazed and unseeing. Not focusing. His eyes aren't focusing at all, and Raditz knows somehow he's blind. Knows Vegeta isn't seeing anything. 

Panic fills Raditz' chest, and he thinks for a moment he's gonna puke. It had to be temporary. His brain short circuited or something from the impact. He wasn't blind. He wasn't.

“Vegeta!” He calls his name again, and Vegeta starts to say something. Only it's coming out all wrong. His words slurred and nothing but nonsense. Nothing but gibberish, and Raditz feels his fear spike to a frenzied state.

“Whartami... halbethi... radzz...z.. naap... pre... na...”

He couldn't... oh gods... he couldn't panic now, Raditz thinks, even as he feels his breath coming in short, hyper bursts. Even as he can hear his own, desperate gasping. He couldn't panic now. He had to... Oh gods, he had to keep it together. Get Vegeta to medical right away. He had to...

“It's... ii-it's alright. It's... it's aa-alright, V-Vegeta... oh gods, j-just... it's alright, just h-hang on. Just hang on...”

He slides his hand beneath Vegeta's skull, supporting it as carefully as he's able, slipping his other arm under his back. 

Careful... he has to be careful as he lifts him. He can't... he can't let his head take any more impact. 

He picks him up, cradling the back of his head in his hand and lying him gently against his shoulder, holding him securely. Vegeta is limp against him, like he can't move at all. Like his whole body is broken and he can't support it.

He keeps talking, and it keeps coming out all jumbled and making no sense. Raditz can feel the warmth of his blood all over him, soaking down from Vegeta's broken head, past the seams of his armor, and he has to swallow thickly several times, forcing the bile back down his throat, blinking viciously against the tears burning his eyes.

He's never... He's never seen Vegeta take an injury like this. Not like this.

Oh gods, he's scared. He's so scared. 

He sees everyone standing around, staring, doing nothing, and he feels his rage come boiling back up, vision blurring with the well of tears.

“What the FUCK are you looking at!?” He screams. “FUCK OFF!”

They all look away then. The fucking cowards. He hates them, Raditz thinks. He hates them all so much. Wants to kill all of them.

Doesn't have... doesn't have time for that now though. He can't think about that. He has to... he has to get Vegeta to medical as fast as he can. He doesn't know how they're going to pay for it. They had hardly any credits left from their last mission. Nappa would get paid something for the one he was on now, but... Fuck, it doesn't matter. He would figure it out later. It only matters he get Vegeta help.

“I-it's alright. It's gonna be alright Vegeta.” Raditz stammers out, and he doesn't know if he's trying to convince himself more. Vegeta keeps muttering unintelligibly, lying limp against him, and gods... gods, what if his brain's been wrecked, Raditz thinks, terrified. What if he doesn't recover... what if he... if he stays like... like this... 

No... he can't... he can't think like that. Not now. Just... Just has to help... has to get Vegeta help.

He would be alright...

He had to be...

Gods...

He had to be alright...

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Wakes with a start, heart hammering inside his chest and head throbbing.

Shit...

Sits up too fast and the world spins, feels for a minute like he's gonna puke. Head hurts worse, pain stabbing behind his eyes, vision blurry and useless.

Grinds his teeth together, lifting a hand, pressing his palm against his eye. Grind out the pain, but it doesn't work. Never does.

Got these damn headaches... got 'em all the time since... since he'd had his skull smashed open by Ginyu, all those years ago. Been fucked up for weeks after that, remembers. Hadn't been able to go on any missions. Looked for a while like he was gonna die, even. Couldn't talk right. Thoughts coming through his head. Had known what he'd wanted to say, but always came out all wrong. Couldn't walk right. Been so fucked up, and remembers... remembers Nappa and Raditz being scared 'cause... 'cause they knew if he died, that was it for all of them. Knew if he couldn't fight, that'd be it...

Remembers Nappa and Raditz having to go on solo missions without pay, to make up for the medical care he'd needed. Left all of them almost starving. 'Least Nappa and Raditz had gotten to eat when out on their purges. Hadn't been anything for any them on base though, 'cept the shit they got in the canteen once a day.

Memory hadn't been as good since then either. Lost things all the time. Whole parts of his memories gone, sometimes... sometimes... thoughts fractured apart easier... Couldn't focus... would lose hold of words and... people talking and couldn't... couldn't understand them, sometimes...

Doesn't want Bulma to find out about that. How his brain had been injured. Acted fucked up sometimes still. Hopes she never does. 

Guesses that's why he couldn't remember some things at all. Guesses that's why he remembers out of nowhere, sometimes. Wishes he didn't, most of the time. Wishes...

“Papa!”

Turns. Sees Trunks there. Sitting on the cushions of the couch, between him and Bulma. She's sleeping, arms curled up underneath her head, lying on the arm of the seat. 

Must of... must of fallen asleep too. Hadn't realized...

Had come here after... after Krillin and that android had finally left. Him and Bulma and Trunks... been sitting here with them and must of... fallen asleep.

Can hardly... can hardly think though, with his head pounding. Has to... has to get some of that... those pills Bulma gave him when he got headaches. Aspirin, or whatever it was called.

“Papa!” Trunks babbles up at him again as he stands from the couch.

“Wait.” Tells the boy, trying to remember where Bulma kept those pills.

“Papa!”

“Wait!” Loses his temper, snaps at the boy. 

Shouldn't have done that, he thinks. Watches as Trunks' face crumples, tears welling up in his eyes, pouring down his face.

Fuck...

“Don't...”

Eyes move to Bulma. Still sleeping. Doesn't want to wake her.

Looks back to Trunks.

“Don't cry.” Says to the boy. “There's no reason to.”

The boy keeps looking up at him, tears thick now, still spilling down his cheeks, but he doesn't make any sound.

Feels relieved at that. 

“I... I'll be right back. Don't cry. D-don't wake your mother.”

Trunks stops crying. Must have understood... guesses... thinks so... The boy was smart like his mother...

“I'll be right back.” Tells the boy again. Looks back more than once to make sure he doesn't start wailing. He doesn't, and that's a relief too.

Takes too damn long to find the pills. Looks in Bulma's bathroom. Inside the mirror where she kept all those things. So many fucking bottles and boxes with words he can't read printed all over them. Tries to remember what the bottle looks like. Thinks he finds it, finally. 

Ex... Exked... Exkeedrine... meeg... m... migrain...

Doesn't know how the fuck to say it. Doesn't matter. Remembers what the pills look like and this is them. Takes three of 'em. Swallows them dry. Tastes disgusting, but wants the pain in his head to go... can't stand it much longer. Feels like he's gonna puke from it.

Sits for a while in the bathroom. Hides his face in his knees. Light bothers his eyes.

Takes a while... but the pain starts to ebb away finally. Relief so strong, feels like he's gonna cry from it. Mouth dry and still feels sick, but the pain's going...

Pushes himself up finally, legs weak and shaky. Grits his teeth. Something in the pills made his head light... better than the pain though. 

Should go back to Bulma and Trunks. Hopes Trunks didn't wake Bulma. She'd been... been working so much lately... Needed... she needed to rest more. Shouldn't... shouldn't force herself to stay awake, the way she sometimes did.

Told her so. She only ever smiles at him when he does, says “Look who's talking.” to him. Knows she thinks he pushes himself too hard, only... only Bulma was so fragile and... 

Doesn't want her to hurt herself ever.

Sees Bulma still sleeping when he comes back, Trunks still sitting on the couch cushions beside her.

“Papa!” Boy giggles, eyes bright and big seeing him. Reaching for him with chubby hands.

“... Alright.”

Picks the boy up. Still feels weird. Hates the way the boy squirms around. Scared... scared he'll hold him too hard or... scared he'll... he'll hurt him, somehow.

“Alright.” Repeats. Feels stupid. Carries the boy over to the middle of the floor. Sits down with him on the carpet.

Boy squirms harder and puts him down between his stretched out legs, lets him crawl around.

Already can stand, a little. Chubby hands plant on the floor and watches as Trunks pushes himself up. Starts to fall over. Doesn't think as he reaches out reflexively, catches him.

Little hands grasp hold of his knee, supporting himself, and Vegeta lets him go. Feels himself smile a little. 

“You don't need my help, do you?” Asks the boy out loud. Realizes it a moment after and feels his face burn. Turns to make sure Bulma's still sleeping. Looks back to the boy. “You're strong. I can tell already from your ki.” Goes on in a whisper.

Boy looks up at him with wondering eyes. Smiles at him. Weird feeling in the pit of his stomach. Almost a sick feeling. But not really. Something else. Doesn't know what it is.

“Someday maybe I'll train you.” Tells the boy, making sure to keep his voice low. “... If you wanted me to.”

“Papa strong!” 

Chest aches suddenly. Looks away. Doesn't... boy was looking at him like he was... 

Doesn't want the boy to think that. Not when it wasn't true anyway.

“... I used to think I was...” mutters, more to himself.

“Papa strong! Papa strong!” 

Feels Trunks grasp hold of his forefinger, swinging his hand back and forth. Glances down. Boys hand is barely big enough to grasp round one of his thick, ugly digits. 

Frowns, shaking his head.

“... Think everyone was always just lying to me...” hears himself say. Doesn't know why he's saying it. Guesses 'cause Trunks won't remember anyway. Wouldn't tell anyone. “To make me feel better, I guess. Wish they hadn't though. That's weak. To lie to someone just because you don't want to hurt them. Just... just hurt 'em worse, when they find out the truth... Y... you should always tell the truth Trunks... I think.”

Boy keeps looking up at him. Probably doesn't understand anything he's saying. Doesn't really matter, guesses. 

Holds his arm out. Trunks grabs hold of it. Lifts him up and lets him swing in the air. The boy laughs. Started doing this with him a couple weeks ago. Trunks seemed to like it. 

Goes on for a while. Boy starts to get sleepy eventually. Sets him down in his lap. Holds onto him 'till he's asleep, face slack with rest. Doesn't know anything bad in the world, Vegeta thinks. Doesn't know any pain. 

Watches him a long time, something painful inside. Can't stop remembering, seeing a hole blown wide in his son's chest... the boys eyes big with shock and pain...

Can't... can't let anything like that ever happen again. Can't... can't...

“... I won't let anything happen to you Trunks.” Tells him.

The boy keeps sleeping. 

Doesn't know anything bad in the world at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, a huge thank you to all of my readers and supporters! You guys are amazing, and the reason I keep writing. I hope you're continuing to enjoy, and please leave a comment if you get the chance!


	52. Chapter 52

“You know, I think I'm finally starting to regret asking if I could work out with you.”

Bulma huffs, her teeth grinding together as she forces herself up from her back for one last sit up. The muscles in her abdomen feel like they're on fire.

Vegeta kneels beside her on his knees, one of his hands supporting her behind the neck, the other resting on her stomach. He frowns at her, a worried look on his face.

“Do you need to stop?” He asks. 

“... Maybe for a minute.” She concedes, a little embarrassed.

She'd asked Vegeta over breakfast this morning if they could start doing some workouts together, and if maybe he could help her lose some of the little weight she was still having trouble getting off, from her pregnancy with Trunks.

He'd looked at her skeptically at first, asking her several times if she was sure before he'd finally accepted that she really did want to. 

Bulma can admit to herself that she'd felt a little annoyed with Vegeta for treating her like some delicate little flower. 

“I'm not going to break in two Vegeta! You don't have to treat me like it!” She'd snapped at him at one point. He'd blinked at her, a closed off look coming over his face then, his mouth going tight. He'd looked away from her a moment later, and she'd been able to see his jaw working.

“Alright.” He'd said, voice low and almost soundless. She hadn't been able to tell then if he sounded angry or hurt, and she'd nearly apologized. But her own pride had felt a little bruised from his apparent concern for her, and that had kept her mouth shut.

Now though, she thinks, humiliatingly, he may have been right, even if just a little.

She can tell they weren't going even a quarter as hard as Vegeta would normally work out. But even so, the pace of what they were doing was pushing her to her limits.

It hadn't started out so bad. They'd gone through some basic stretches, and Vegeta was so attendant upon her, showing her all kinds of warm ups that she'd never known about, stretches which really felt amazing in how they loosened up parts of her body which she hadn't even realized were so tight.

Vegeta himself was amazing to watch, as usual. He was absurdly limber, and Bulma could only watch in jealous awe at the way he was able to stretch his legs out into a full split and lay his entire torso out between them, chest to the ground, arms stretched out in front of him, just holding that position for as long as he wanted. Or the way he could pull his ankle up behind his neck like it was nothing. She wasn't surprised, of course. He just made it look so easy, and she knew it wasn't.

He didn't ask her to do anything nearly so advanced, keeping her to simple, easy stretches designed to gradually loosen her up. He asked her constantly if she felt alright, helping position her if she was having difficulty getting the right form. 

By the end of the warm up, Bulma had felt amazing. Loose and bouncy and ready for whatever they did next.

And again, they had started out with a slow and even pace. Just doing some simply push ups and jumping jacks and things like that. Vegeta looked like he was floating all the time, he was so light on his feet, and Bulma couldn't help feeling self conscious about her own clumsy movements compared to his. But he never said anything about it. Never criticized her, or told her she was doing anything wrong. If she was, he would simply come over and wordlessly move her into the right form, or tell her in his soft voice to “try it like this”, demonstrating himself.

It wasn't really that anything they were doing was particularly hard in itself. Vegeta was plainly aware of her limitations and purposefully keeping the exercises easy. It was that they'd been going for a long time now, and Bulma was starting to really feel it. She'd been starting to feel it about an hour before, but again her pride had kept her from saying anything. She'd gotten it into her stupid, stubborn head that she was going to prove him wrong about what he thought was her fragility, by refusing to quit, no matter how much it started to hurt. And so every time he asked her if she was feeling alright, or if she wanted to stop, she would firmly answer that she was fine, and no she didn't want to stop.

She thinks that stubborn pride had finally given way to the physical agony she was in. She was going to really be hurting in the morning.

“Here.” Vegeta gets up, grabbing the water bottle and bringing it over, handing it to her.

“Thanks.” She says, taking it from him. She sucks at the nozzle of the thing, greedily gulping the water down, and Vegeta lowers himself at her side, sitting next to her, watching her carefully.

“Do you feel dizzy?” He asks.

“A little.” Bulma admits, figuring there was no use in pretending now. “But I'm alright. I just need a little break.”

She sees Vegeta shake his head from her periphery.

“No. You're done for the day. And tomorrow.” He tells her, and she doesn't think she's ever heard him sound so firm. He won't take any argument, she thinks. She wasn't feeling particularly inclined to it anyway.

They fall into silence then.

Vegeta wraps his arms around his knees, staring out ahead of them, his face pensive.

He's barely worked up a sweat, his naked torso almost dry, and Bulma was sitting here huffing and puffing, feeling like a total pig. She'd thought she was in pretty decent shape, but compared to him, she guesses not. 

He has a real fighters body, Bulma thinks, admiring him. His muscles are long and sinewy and so beautifully defined, no layer of fat covering any part of him, and not hugely bulked up, like you saw with so many guys at the gym. And she thinks that she's never seen him lift weights really. The most she's seen him do with weights is to hold dumbbells while shadow boxing. But that's about it, and she finds herself suddenly curious about it.

“Do you ever lift weights?” She asks. “I've never seen you down in the weight room we have.”

Vegeta shakes his head, still with his eyes fixed in front of him.

“You don't really need weights.” He tells her. “They're bad for fighting anyway. Too much muscle will only drain you of your stamina faster.”

He looks at her finally.

“Resistance training is better. Using your own body weight. All those bulked up idiots you see with massive muscle mass can't even lift their own body weight, most of the time...”

His voice trails off and he looks away again.

He sounds almost defensive, Bulma thinks, and she wonders if maybe the other soldiers on Frieza's home base had used to make fun of Vegeta for his size. So many guy's she'd known had been obsessed with bulking up, getting as big as they could, and acting like being small was some sort of wretched condition. Like it was the worst thing you could possibly be. She can only imagine, in a hyper masculine environment like the one Vegeta had grown up in, it must have been even worse.

But for anyone to make fun of or criticize Vegeta for his size seemed absurd to Bulma. Okay, yeah, he was short, and his muscles weren't ridiculously huge. But all you had to do was take one look at him to see he was incredibly strong. Especially for someone who didn't weigh very much. Even without the use of his ki, Bulma knows Vegeta was physically powerful. And what he said, about being able to lift your own body weight, that was true. Vegeta moved like he didn't weigh anything at all, and that was how you could tell when someone was in truly great physical condition.

“Yeah,” she says causally. “I think you're right. Thanks for letting me tag along with you today. I really appreciate you helping me babe.”

She can see him glance at her, almost like he's surprised, and she turns to look back at him, smiling.

“Hey, you wanna go take a bath together? We haven't done that in a while!”

She pushes herself up to her feet, grinning down at him and holding out her hand.

He hesitates a moment, before reaching out and taking hold of it, and she pulls him up.

“Cool!” She exclaims, keeping hold of his hand, pulling him along after her.

//

“So just read the first sentence back to me. And remember there's no rush. If you don't know how to pronounce a certain word, take your time trying to sound it out. Okay?”

Gohan doesn't know if he's ever seen Vegeta look really nervous before. Really scared, sure. When they'd had to face off against the Ginyu Force, and Frieza, back on Namek. But nervous, no. Not until now anyway.

This was their first tutoring session. Gohan had come by after school today like he promised he would. Bulma had greeted him with a huge smile, telling him excitedly that Vegeta was just finishing up his training for the day, and would be around soon. She had thanked him profusely for doing this.

“You don't know how much it means Gohan. Really. Everyone always acts like Vegeta's some sort of wild animal that's going to bite if you get too close. People never stop to think about what that can do to a person. So thank you.”

Gohan had told her it wasn't any trouble at all, and he'd meant it. Just like he'd meant what he said when he'd told Vegeta it would be his honor to help him. He'd never thought of Vegeta as any sort of monster, except maybe when he'd first come to Earth. Since then he'd only seen him as a person. Sure he could be seriously intimidating, even frightening, when he was really angry, but... more than anything, Gohan had only felt sad for him, seeing how lonely and lost he was all the time. To be able to help him was... well, it was something he'd been hoping he could do for a long time now.

Vegeta had come in to the living room where Gohan had been waiting for him after about 15 minutes, his hair damp from a shower, apparently. Gohan had told him that they should start by figuring out where his reading and writing level was at, and again and again Vegeta had repeated how he wasn't very advanced, almost like he was apologizing for it, plainly embarrassed. Finally Gohan had told him it was alright, that this wasn't any kind of test, and wherever his level was at, it didn't matter. They would work it out and go from there.

Vegeta's eyes keep sliding away from him though, hands fidgety and restless. He's really nervous, and Gohan feels awful. He doesn't want Vegeta to feel that way. To be embarrassed in front of him. He wants to tell Vegeta that his lack of education isn't his fault, and that he's got nothing to be ashamed of, but he knows that would probably just make it worse. Acknowledging out loud that Vegeta lacked an education at all.

Finally the older Saiyan grabs the sheet Gohan had handed him. He'd written out five different sentences on it, each varying in degrees of difficulty, the first being about where a child with no reading experience would start, the last about the average reading level of a young adult. Of a kid about his age. Gohan knows right off Vegeta isn't going to be able to handle that one very well. But he just needs an idea of where they should start.

Vegeta stares at the lines on the page for what seems like a long time, his face tight with anxiousness, sometimes biting the inside of his cheek. Gohan doesn't think he's aware of it. 

Finally he begins to stammer out the words, one at a time.

“... S-see... see th... the... the... bb... boy... the boy...” he stops, huffing, clearly struggling, his face slightly colored in embarrassment.

“It's okay Vegeta. You're doing really good! You've gotten every word right so far. Just keep trying.” Gohan tries to encourage. 

Vegeta's eyes flash up to him for a brief moment before again looking away, back to the paper. Long seconds pass before he starts again.

“See the b-boy... rr... rune?” He looks up at Gohan, expression questioning. Gohan forces himself to smile, feeling bad already.

“Almost...” he says carefully. “It's run. But you almost had it Vegeta.”

Vegeta's face actually drains of color for a moment, a mortified look passing over it before he turns quickly away, muttering something under his breathe, too low for Gohan to make out.

“It's okay.” Gohan repeats. “One thing I think is helpful when learning to read is accounting for the context of what you're reading. So you had the first three quarters of the sentence right, which was “see the boy”. So, the next word you weren't quite sure about. So try to think about how that sentence makes sense. If it's “see the boy rune”, that doesn't really make any sense. You can't see a boy rune, because a rune is a noun, right? It's a thing, not an action. So try to think about what sort of word would make sense within the context of the entire sentence. Does that make sense to you?”

Vegeta still looks horribly embarrassed, but he nods weakly, eyes fixed on the paper.

“Alright. There's nothing to be embarrassed about Vegeta. Try the next sentence.”

Vegeta looks doubtful, hesitating again for a long moment before he tries.

He struggles more with the next sentence, missing more words, but Gohan can see him pausing to think before each one, listening to his advice, trying to work out the context. Gohan is happy when it works, nodding encouragingly, telling Vegeta he's doing well.

Gohan thinks by the end of it that Vegeta's at maybe about a 2nd grade reading level. They'd have a lot of work to do then. But Vegeta was smart, and picked up on things really fast. As long as he had someone there to guide him and he wasn't just left trying to figure it all out on his own, Gohan has little doubt the older Saiyan will make fast progress.

Gathering up the supplies he'd brought, Gohan can't help feeling Vegeta's eyes on him, a creeping self-consciousness starting to bubble up in his throat. There was that weird sense of intimidation again whenever Vegeta really focused on him. Finally he can't take it any more and he looks up at the older Saiyan, seeing him leaned back against the couch he'd been seated at the foot of during their lesson, arms crossed and face stoic, his eyes fixed on Gohan with an almost frightening intensity.

“Wh-what?” Gohan half laughs, nervous. “Do I have something on my face, or...”

“Did the Namekian teach you how to fight?” Vegeta asks suddenly, ignoring Gohan's weak attempt to laugh off his discomfort.

Gohan blinks, surprised.

“Uh... y-yeah, he... Mr. Piccolo taught me everything I know, basically. I mean, Father taught me how to go Super Saiyan, of course, and some other things, but... Mr. Piccolo's been my main teacher since I was really little.”

Vegeta's expression doesn't change. Doesn't give any hint at what he might actually be thinking.

“He took you to train you for us? For me and Nappa?” He asks.

Gohan nods vaguely, not really sure where this is going.

“He cares for you. He tries to protect you.” Vegeta says, a statement more than a question, but Gohan nods again anyway.

“Mr. Piccolo is really a good person. He... he taught me how to be brave.” He says softly, a little embarrassed. He isn't sure how Vegeta would react to that. To the idea of ever having once not been brave. He thinks Vegeta must have come out of the womb ready and willing to fight.

For a long moment Vegeta doesn't say anything, still with that unreadable expression, his eyes still fixed intently on Gohan. He's thinking, Gohan knows. But he doesn't know about what.

“... Nappa and Raditz taught me that too.” He finally says, and Gohan feels his stomach flip a little. “... How to be brave... And how to fight.”

Gohan's tongue feels heavy in his mouth all of a sudden.

He hadn't really thought about those two since...

Since they'd come to Earth, really. 

Gohan can still remember his overpowering fear, when Father's brother... Raditz, had shown up. When he'd kidnapped him and...

It was difficult for Gohan to wrap his head around the idea of either of those two being anything but cruel and terrifying. He knows objectively that they'd been Vegeta's two closest companions, and Bulma had said some things suggesting they'd meant a lot to him, that they'd been like a kind of family unit to him, it was just... Gohan had been so afraid of them, it was hard for him to imagine.

“... It's my fault they're dead.” Vegeta goes on, looking away from Gohan finally.

Well, that was definitely true regarding Nappa, Gohan thinks, though he doesn't say so. He could hear the hurt in Vegeta's voice, in how quiet it was. But Raditz hadn't been killed by Vegeta. He'd...

“Raditz was gonna kill me, if... if Father hadn't, and Mr. Piccolo, I mean...” Gohan blurts without really thinking, voice trailing off when he realizes.

Vegeta's eyes cut back to him, and Gohan expects for a moment a furious outburst, anger and viciousness.

Only Vegeta's eyes are subdued. Almost sad even. He shakes his head, looking away again.

“He wouldn't have killed you. Nappa would have.” Again he shakes his head. “But not Raditz. He just wanted... just wanted Kakarott to come back with him so...”

He stops, and Gohan can see his jaw clench, his arms folded over his chest stiffening.

“... I told him to come here. To bring your father back with him. He wouldn't... have disobeyed me. He would have felt coming back without Kakarott was no option. You understand?”

Vegeta looks at him again, an almost pleading look in his eyes now.

Gohan thinks he does. Understand. 

Vegeta is trying to tell him Raditz had been acting out of desperation. That he took him that day because he'd thought it was the only thing he could do. Because he knew Vegeta was expecting him to succeed. It was easy enough to see then why Vegeta blamed himself for Raditz' death. 

“I'm... sorry.” Gohan says softly, not knowing what else to say. “I... I know how it feels to lose a friend.”

And he did. He remembers that day too, when Vegeta and Nappa had come, and Mr. Piccolo had... had saved his life, and lost his own in the process.

“I know.” Vegeta tells him. “I know you've... lost a lot... You have tremendous strength Gohan.”

Gohan's throat feels tight with emotion, and for a moment he can't speak, nodding weakly. 

He didn't feel very strong, sometimes. After everything, after losing Father like that, because he'd... because he'd gotten so arrogant out there against Cell... He can't stop himself from thinking every day, if only he hadn't gotten so arrogant... If only he'd taken Cell out when he had had the chance, then Father would still... he'd still be alive.

He supposes Vegeta knew what that was like too. With what had happened to Trunks, and with... with his own father. Gohan only knows that Frieza had killed Vegeta's father. He doesn't know the circumstances behind it, though he can guess well enough. Only... Vegeta had lost his father when he'd barely been a toddler, and from that loss he'd been pressed into slavery and a life of desperation and hardship. Gohan at least had had his mother and his friends to comfort him after everything. He'd had a good and happy life still. Vegeta had had none of that. Nothing to comfort him...

“You... you do too Vegeta.” Gohan says, his voice finally returning to him. “You have tremendous strength too.”

Vegeta doesn't say anything to that. Only glances away, eyes fixing on some indistinct spot.

“... You should probably see your way home boy.” He at last says, still looking away. “... Your mother will worry...”

Gohan glance down at his watch. It's evening already, and he knows Vegeta is right. 

He gets to his feet, reaching down his hand towards the older Saiyan, smiling.

“Thanks for letting me come and help you Vegeta!” He says. “How about the same time and day next week? You can work on the stuff we went over in the meantime.” 

Vegeta glances up at him, eying his proffered hand a moment before reaching back and taking it, giving a single nod.

“Great! See you then! Have a good night Vegeta! And tell Bulma the same for me!”

Gohan makes his way home then, an oddly light feeling in his chest. Almost like a flutter of excitement. 

He was happy, he guesses, that Vegeta had seemed to accept him as a friend. Even if Vegeta never actually called him that, Gohan thinks that's what they were to each other. It made him happy.

And Father would be proud of him, he thinks, for giving Vegeta that chance. 

He knows Father would have wanted that. 

//

“Come sit down over here Vegeta.”

Bulma gestures towards a small stool set up in the middle of her lab.

Hesitates, unsure. Not sure why she wants him down here now. Asked him to take his shirt off. Feels stupidly exposed and doesn't know why.

Looks at him with that frustrated look she gets with him sometimes, hands on her hips, and knows better than to argue. 

Moves to the stool, sits down.

Holds his breath to keep from gasping with the pain. Everything hurting him again lately. Knees and back hurt so bad last few days, felt like he couldn't get enough air into his lungs. Like he was suffocating on it. Old wounds flaring up. Tries to hide it from Bulma, but pretty sure she knows anyway.

“You've been hobbling around a lot lately.” She says, and doesn't know how she does that. Like she can read hit thoughts. Scares him, sometimes. How she can do that.

“I'm alright.” Lies. Can't look at her when he says it.

“No I don't think you are.” She tells him, and feels his face burn. Can't look at her. “I know you've been living with chronic pain Vegeta. I know sometimes you have okay days, where it's not so bad. And I know you have really bad ones, like the last few days. You can barely walk baby.”

Doesn't know what to say. Feels stupid she caught him so easily. Feels embarrassed.

“I've been working on something for the last few months now. It's a lotion you rub into your skin, wherever the pain is hurting you the most. I think it's finally ready and I wanted you to try it to tell me how it works. I tried it on myself, for some minor aches and pains, and it took care of those right away. But obviously your pain is a lot worse than that, so that's gonna be the real test.”

Isn't sure how a lotion's going to help. Pains deep down in his bones. Knows it's from never getting to heal properly. Too many breaks. Forced too many times to put pressure on broken bones. Happened when he was too young, still growing and... and...

“Can we try it?” Bulma asks.

Nods. Guesses it won't hurt to try. Guesses...

“Okay. So where do you want to try first? Where's a part of you that's really been hurting a lot?”

Shoulders, he thinks. His shoulders hurt so much, it... joints of his shoulders. Feels like knives going through them, sometimes, hurts so much.

Tells her, and she says alright.

“So this may burn a little at first.” She says. Moves around behind him and tries not to tense up. Always tensed up when his back was exposed and couldn't... he couldn't see...

Gives a stiff nod, and a moment later feels her hands on him, fingers massaging against the joint of his left shoulder.

“Here?” She asks.

Nods weakly.

Burny, tingly sensation where her hands touch. Almost flinches away at first. Forces himself to stay still. 

Starts to feel... starts to feel nice, after... after a little while. Starts to feel...

Pain starts to go... like... like washing away and... 

Relief... Can't... Can't believe the relief... pain goes away and can't... 

Can't remember what that felt like until... until now. Can't remember what it felt like not to have any pain there. Gotten so used to it, almost... thought he'd almost started to not notice. Only thinks now... thinks now he'd always noticed. Just gotten used to it. Just accepted it. Always being in pain. Always...

“It's working?” Hears Bulma ask.

Feels weak with relief. Can barely nod in response, head drooping down.

“You want me to do the rest?” 

Nods again. Can't talk. Feels... oh, gods, it feels so nice... like being able to... to breathe for the first time in...

Does his other shoulder. Pain goes. Feels her fingers massaging the lotion into his back. 

“Down here?” She asks, fingers against the small of his back, and barely stammers out a response of yes. Hurts so much there all the time. Remembers...

Remembers steel tipped boots sinking into him, just... just above his tail... again... and again... skin sickeningly blackened with grotesque bruising for weeks after and... soldiers on base laughing at the way he had to limp because... because couldn't walk right, then. Couldn't walk at all, sometimes, after...

Thinks he could cry with how good it feels, not to... not to feel pain there... Bulma's fingers working into the small of his back and... 

Asks him where else it hurts and... and tells her...

Pain goes away, wherever she touches him. Joints of his knees and his hands, holding his hand in hers, working her thumbs between the joints of his fingers and... 

Doesn't know how she... how she's done this... doesn't know... guesses... guesses he shouldn't be surprised. Was so... she was so smart...

Doesn't realize he's asked her out loud until she starts explaining it to him. Goes into talking a bunch of science and words he doesn't understand. Says she's been working on it for over a year now. Didn't even know. Didn't know she'd known so long about his pain.

“It probably won't... won't reverse whatever damage there is, though it might a little. But it'll prevent further degeneration and of course pain relief whenever it really flares up on you. You just massage or rub it into whatever area is bothering you, like I've done, and it should relieve your pain pretty instantly.”

Doesn't know what to say. Doesn't... 

Knows he should say thank you. Doesn't seem like enough though. Never did, with Bulma. Doesn't understand sometimes still... Never felt... never felt like he could give her anything back for... for her being so... kind... to him... 

“Hey, Vegeta? Are you alright?” Hears her ask. Looks up at her and doesn't think. Sees her beautiful face and just...

Stands up and takes her face in his hands, leans in, pressing his mouth to her lips. Kisses her. 

Hears Bulma gasp in surprise.

Never kissed her before. Never... never been the first to kiss her, anyway.

Feels her relax, feels her lips part and loves... loves the way she feels, loves how she tastes and... 

Loves her...

Loves her so much, he can't... can't understand how when he... 

Doesn't think he ever loved anything before... anyone... not before her. Doesn't think he ever knew what that was even...

Feels her pull back finally, cheeks flushed and eyes large and shining. Smiles at him, her own hands reaching up, holding his face back. Feels lightheaded, when she looks at him like this. Almost like he was gonna pass out, sometimes. 

“Wow.” Bulma says. Sounds breathless. “What was that for?”

Doesn't know how to say...

Feels embarrassed, suddenly. Dumb tongue heavy in his mouth and words won't... can't find the words. Hears himself stammering stupidly, trying to say something. But never could talk right... never could think fast enough and... laughter... Hears the other soldiers laughing... Freiza and Zarbon and...

Feels Bulma's lips press against his forehead. Memories shatter in his brain.

“It's okay.” She says. Still smiles at him. Doesn't think... doesn't think he's stupid. Never laughs... never laughs at him like... 

“It's okay.” She says. “I understand.”

She does, he thinks.

She understands.

Always understands. 

Doesn't think anyone else ever did.

No one before Bulma.

Never understood... 

Never even understood himself...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! So thank you so much again for all of your support! I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Let me know what you thought in the comments if you get a chance!


	53. Chapter 53

Can't stop thinking about it, lately. 

Something official. Some sort of... they must have had that sort of thing here on this planet. Some sort of ceremony for two people who... who wanted...

Doesn't know if that's what she wants though. Worried... worried she wouldn't and...

“You should ask her to be your wife.” Raditz says.

Feels himself scowl. Glares up at Raditz. Not Raditz. Not really there. Has to keep reminding himself of that. Knows it's just his own mind. Hallucinating. 

“He's right little man. You ain't gonna find another woman like that.”

“I know that!” Snaps at them, pacing back and forth, arms folded over his chest.

Does know that. Knows Bulma's it for him. Won't have another woman ever again. Doesn't want one. She was it.

Wants to... wants to ask her. Wants her to be his wife. Only...

Doesn't have anything to offer her. Nothing... nothing to give her a reason to... want to wed him.

Remembers Nappa explaining to him about marriage customs among their people. Been... been too young to know about any of that, before. To learn about it. Been taken from Vegetasai too young and...

Remembers Nappa telling him matches were made in the... in the upper classes. Had told him he... had told him he would have been matched with a girl of noble rank if... if he had been able to remain on his world. That a girl would have been chosen among the nobility for him, and they... they would have wed when he had reached his majority. Told him it would have... would have been the highest honor, for whichever girl was chosen, to be married off to the son of the King... to the Prince of their people... would have been a great honor, Nappa said, and she... she would have become queen one day when... when he assumed the throne finally and... and...

Shakes his head.

None of that mattered now. Hadn't mattered in a long time. Didn't... didn't have any ranking to offer Bulma now. Didn't have any wealth, or property. No political power to offer her. Didn't... couldn't give her anything she... she couldn't have herself... In this... in this world, she was the one with the title and power and money. Knew she was widely known and... knew she held the title of vice president and... and something else. Oversaw the development of all the... all the technology her company created and manufactured and sold. 

Wouldn't have any reason to marry him then. Couldn't give her anything. Would probably... would probably tell him no and then...

But they had a child together. A son. Remembers Nappa telling him that was custom too. When two people had a child together outside of wedlock, they were... they were expected to marry. Wasn't... wasn't right to have a child with Bulma and not... not become her husband. Should... had a responsibility towards... both of them...

“Then why don't you ask her, you fucking idiot?!” Nappa growls at him.

Knows why. Knows... Doesn't...

Doesn't want to hear her tell him no. Doesn't... want... 

Afraid she'll say no and then... maybe it would mean she never really... never actually lo... 

loved him...

Doesn't want to think that. Doesn't want to think that could be real even.

Felt... felt how much she cared about him every... every day. Knew that now. Knew she cared. Knew she loved him. And loved... he loved her. Knows that now too. 

Loves her so damn much. Hurts sometimes, thinking about how much... Sometimes... sometimes wishes he... didn't. Felt scared, sometimes. Almost sick with fear that something... something would happen to her, or Trunks. Couldn't stand it, how scared he felt sometimes over it. Thinks, sometimes, it would be better not to love them at... at all...

“So you're scared. So what? What, are you a fuckin' coward now little man? Afraid to ask a woman to be your wife?” Nappa taunts.

“Shut up!” Screams back. Realizes a moment later. Awful fear someone will have seen. Looks around him. Relief when he sees no one. “Fuck...”

Wasn't a fucking coward. No matter what else he was. Wasn't that. Wouldn't ever be...

He would ask her. He would. Even if... even if he didn't have anything to offer... Even if he wasn't... wasn't good enough for her... He would ask.

Maybe she would say yes. 

Maybe...

If she didn't... guesses he never deserved her anyway. Already gave him more than he ever, ever deserved.

//

“What's wrong?”

Bulma can't help the question slipping past her lips. It hadn't taken some supreme act of concentration to see that Vegeta had been agitated the moment he'd come into breakfast this morning, his eyes flicking every which way, looking everywhere but at her, fidgeting all over the place, unable to hold still it seemed. He'd barely touched his food, which was a real giveaway that something was up, and his agitation had seemed only to grow more extreme as the morning had worn on.

It has Bulma worried. She'd tried to tell herself it was probably nothing. That Vegeta was just in one of his moods. But no, she'd known quick enough that wasn't the case. Something was making him nervous, and whenever Vegeta was visibly nervous, it usually didn't spell anything good. 

He was so prone to depression, and she knows if he was feeling depressed he wouldn't tell her. She would have to pry it out of him and then try to figure out what it was that was making him feel that way, see if there was anything she could do to help him.

It was a process with Vegeta. Maybe it always would be. But she loved him so much, and it didn't matter. It didn't matter how long it took him to really get better, or if he ever got fully better at all. She wasn't going to abandon him.

His quick “nothing” does nothing to assuage her concern, and she tells him so.

“No, Vegeta. Something's wrong, and I want you to tell me what it is. You know you don't have to be afraid of telling me anything. I'm not going to think less of you, whatever it is.”

“Nothing... nothing's wrong.” He repeats, not looking at her as he says it, and Bulma can feel her patience starting to ware mildly thin. She wishes he wouldn't do this. She'd thought they'd gotten past this, at least a little. That he knew he could trust her not to laugh at him, or criticize him, or whatever. But when he acted like this, it made her think maybe not.

“If nothing's wrong, then why won't you look at me honey?” She asks bluntly, and that gets to him.

He glares up at her, face twisting in anger.

“I'm looking at you now.” He hisses, voice low and frustrated.

Bulma feels her own temper flare a moment, forcing it back down. She doesn't want to fight with him. That would only make things worse. Would only cause him to shut her out completely, which was the last thing either of them needed. They'd been doing so good lately too. Hadn't fought in weeks.

“Vegeta, look, I'm just worried about you. You know that. Don't get angry just because I want to know if you're alright or not.”

She instantly regrets the last words, even as they're coming out of her mouth. It was just... he could be so frustrating.

“I'm not angry. Stop fucking pestering me!” His voice snaps, rising loud enough to make Bulma flinch back. He stands abruptly, slamming his hands down on the table. “Why does everyone always think there's something... s-something wrong with me!? Fucking damn it!”

“Vegeta, calm down.” Bulma starts, standing with him, reaching out a hand. This had gotten out of control fast, and now she knows there's something really serious going on. “Baby, please, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply there's anything wrong with you. There isn't. Okay? I'm just scared. Honey, you've been through so much and...”

An angry growl cuts her off, and she watches in dismay as he steps back, away from her, his eyes flashing with anger now. Almost accusatory. 

“You don't fucking know what I've been through!” He says. “You don't know anything!”

Bulma's hand falls away, a well of hurt rising up into her chest. Her eyes sting, and with the hurt comes her own anger again. She can't control it this time.

“Okay, fine. Fine Vegeta, if that's the way you feel. Never mind all the fucking time I've spent listening to you talk about your fucked up childhood! All those fucked up stories about what was done to you, or what... what you did! Do you know how hard that is?! Having to listen to such awful stories all the time?! Some of them made me literally sick to my stomach Vegeta. Made me fucking cry for you! And I asked if you were alright anyway, not knowing what other disgusting, fucked up horror show you might tell me about this time, even knowing it would probably make me ill. Never mind that I was trying to... to-to help you, to comfort you and understand you and... and...”

Her voice trails off, her brain kicking into sudden realization of what it is she's saying.

It's his face, she thinks distantly. The look on his face which made her realize.

He looks, for a moment, so nakedly hurt. Looks like a little boy who doesn't understand... 

She doesn't understand herself. Doesn't understand what the hell's just come out of her mouth.

“Vegeta, I...” she starts, but he shakes his head, stepping back from her again. 

The look of hurt is gone in an instant, replaced by stone.

“Vegeta, please! I'm sorry. I didn't... damn it, I didn't mean any of that! It wasn't what I meant. You have to believe me. Baby, I'm sorry...”

Again he shakes his head, his eyes bright, mouth tight.

“No, it's fine.” He says. His voice is odd. It sounds distant. Almost detached. Empty. “Never mind.”

“Vegeta...”

“I was going to ask you to marry me.” He says, and Bulma feels at once like she can't breathe. “... That's why I was messed up. I thought you wouldn't...”

He shakes his head again.

“Forget it.” He says, stepping back again. “Fucking stupid. Forget it.”

“Oh gods, Vegeta please! Don't... wait!”

But he's already gone, turning and striding towards the back door of the kitchen. He shoves it open so hard it comes flying off it's hinges, cracking the framing around it, fissuring up the wall. The familiar sound of him taking to the air like a crash in her ears.

Bulma doesn't...

Doesn't understand what's just happened.

What did she...

What did she do?

What the hell did she just do?

//

Can't stop it... can't... fucking... comes up into his throat and just... can't stop it.

Crying... starts crying... feels like drowning, hurts so much... stupid... loud sobbing and can't... can't make it stop. Tries and can't and...

Covers his face in his hands, shame and hate and... 

Had made all these... these stupid plans... had... had wanted to ask... ask her... wait for the right time. Knew... knew he shouldn't just blurt it out of no... nowhere. Knew women liked... liked it to seem special and wanted... was gonna ask her to go... go out with him and then ask... ask her when they were out and... Been so stupid and nervous... never asked her out before. Was always her who... who made plans and... been so nervous and couldn't hide it and... trying to work it up to ask and...

Should've known better... should've known...

Hated him. She... she hated him... Told him so, pretty much... Always... must always have had, just... tolerated him... listened to him tell... listened to him tell her about his past probably because... because she was scared of him, like everyone. Like everyone else. Didn't really care. Just scared he'd... he'd lose it... scared he'd kill her, probably. Didn't ever care.

Should've known... was a... a fool... a fool to have thought, and... Made a fool of him. She'd made a fool of him... T... told her all those things... all... all those things about... about himself... Oh, gods... Made him think... made him believe...

Oh... gods it... 

Gonna choke to death on the humiliation... Was so stupid... he was so... so stupid and... Why did he have to be so dumb... Why couldn't he be even a little... a little smart... why...

Doesn't want her to hate him. Doesn't... wanted it... wanted it to be real so much... so much, and... thought it was... had thought... had believed...

Hurts so much to think it wasn't... she never... never really...

Fuck... Fuck...

Buzzing rage inside his head and can't... everything burning and filled with hate and wants to kill.... wants to fucking kill... 

“You should destroy this whole fucking world Vegeta.” Nappa tells him, and thinks he's right. Thinks he should just... just blow it all away... turn... turn the whole fucking useless thing to space dust... should...

Bulma would die... Trunks would die...

Doesn't... can't... Doesn't want them to die, even though... even though...

“She fucking hates you man.” Raditz tells him. “She basically told you so herself. She doesn't give a shit about you.”

Shut up... wants... wants them to shut up... shut the fuck up!

Let's loose a ki blast. Goes right through them. Land beyond explodes, deafening noise of cracking rock and earth, air splits and rushes back against him, sand and dust in his eyes.

High, howling rage in his ears. Knows it's him. Knows he's screaming. Like hearing someone else scream though. Isn't really him at all. 

Knees hit the dirt, fists come down on it. Hits it again, and again. Knuckles break apart, blood and stinging pain and doesn't matter. Doesn't care. Has to destroy... has to destroy something... anything... Destroy himself, otherwise. Destroy himself... 

Destroy everything...

//

“Oh my! What's going on?! Bulma, dear, did you hear that? It sounded like an explosion.” 

Bulma rushes past her mother without answering, towards the back of the compound where they kept the aircraft's, her heart racing, beating like thunder in her chest, fear closing her throat. Yes, she'd heard it. She'd seen it too. A flash of light so bright she'd had to turn away for a moment.

She'd been panicking before, knowing she had to go after Vegeta and not having the first clue as to where to find him. That had ceased being a problem with the explosion in the distance. Only now her panic has been replaced by a new sort, her head spinning with terror and regret and a sense of frenzied urgency. She had to find him, had to get to him and... and... fix what she had done. What she had so stupidly, stupidly done.

She doesn't understand why she had said those things. Why she had said what she did to him. Gods, she hadn't meant any of it. She hadn't meant to make it sound like she... like it was some sort of burden on her, to listen to him, to... to give him someone to talk to. She'd just been frustrated, and hurt, because... because he'd said she didn't know anything about what he'd been through and she'd thought...

But no, he was right. She didn't know. She never could. Because she hadn't lived it. Hearing about it wasn't experiencing it. It had been stupid of her to ever think the two things were remotely the same. How she'd begun to... to almost feel like it was some sort of accomplishment on her part, that he'd told her things about himself that he'd never told anyone else. Almost like it was something she could feel arrogant about. She'd begun to take his trust in her for granted.

And then, oh, her poor man... he had... he had only been wanting to ask her...

Gods, she can't even think about it without tears burning her eyes. And she had been badgering him, just assuming there was something wrong again. Assuming there was another problem when... oh, he had just been nervous because he'd wanted to ask her...

What an unbearable fool she was. 

“Bulma?!” Her mother cries after her.

“I can't talk now Mom! It's Vegeta!” She calls back without stopping, knowing her mother will understand. What her mother wouldn't understand is what she had done. What she had said to him. It was rare to ever see Mom lose her temper, but Bulma thinks, if anything might do it, it would be her finding out what her idiot daughter had been.

She can only pray she makes it to him on time...

Please, please let her make it to him on time... please, give her another chance to fix this...

//

If Bulma had been fearful of her ability to get close to Vegeta, she thinks, she needn't have worried at all.

She'd thought she would find him in the act of destruction. Had thought waves of his ki would have been shooting from him, making him impossible to approach without risking her own life. 

She'd been ready and willing to do just that to get near him... to help him...

Somehow this is worse.

She finds him on his knees, hitting the ground with his balled up fists, even from a distance his knuckles visibly ravaged and bloody and bruised.

He's crying.

Gods, he's... 

She can hear him from where she's standing. His horrible, broken sobbing, and she thinks for a moment she's going to die from heartbreak.

She never wanted to hurt him like this. She never, ever wanted to hurt him at all.

Oh, gods, what had she done to him?

She moves towards him slowly, cautious. It makes her feel somehow worse, that she's afraid. Scared he might somehow lash out at her. But she doesn't let that stop her, getting nearer. He must know she's there. He couldn't have missed the sound of the ship landing. But if he does know, he hasn't shown it.

Stepping closer she can see the tears streaming down his dust covered face, cutting tracks down his cheeks, through the dirt which she knows must have come from the shock wave of his energy attack. His features are twisted in wretched pain, his shoulders and chest heaving with his sobs. She's never seen him like this before. Not this extreme, and she feels terrified.

“V-Vegeta...” she calls when she's close enough to almost touch him.

He starts violently, pushing himself up and stumbling away from her, and Bulma realizes somehow he hadn't known she was there. She doesn't know how that's possible, unless he was so overwhelmed by his emotion that he'd become completely oblivious to what was going on around him. 

“S-stay away from you me you s-stupid bitch... stay away away from me!” He stammers out, his face turning away from her as he wipes frantically at it, clearly humiliated, embarrassed.

Bulma freezes, holding out her hands. Anyone else calling her that would have had her viciously angry. But she understands. She understands why he said it. She isn't angry. Not at him. Only at herself.

“Okay.” She says. “Okay. I deserved that. I'm not coming any closer. Okay? See? I'm standing right here.”

He doesn't look at her, still swiping at his face. His breaths are coming sharp and quick, small whimpering noises breaking free from him as he tries in vain to stop crying, only somehow making it worse through trying to repress it.

“It's okay Vegeta. It's okay that you're crying.” She says carefully.

As if her words had given it permission, a full and broken sob escapes his throat and he turns entirely from her, burying his face in his hands, a fresh fit of sobs wracking his frame. 

Tears well in Bulma's eyes at the sight, and she lets them fall freely.

“Vegeta...” she tries.

“W-why are you doing this to me?!” He cries suddenly, voice choked with tears. “Why are you t-torturing me...?!”

“Vegeta, baby, I... I'm not. I'm not trying to anyway. Please, you have to believe me. I'm so, so sorry. I can't tell you how sorry I am. Please, what I said wasn't...”

“Y-you lie to me... Don't... d-don't lie to me anymore...”

“I'm not lying to you Vegeta.” Bulma says, trying to keep her voice calm. Trying to keep it kind. “I fucked up though. I said some things to you and they... they came out all wrong. You... you can understand that. Can't you? Trying to say something and it doesn't come out the way you want it to, or you just say the wrong thing, and you don't... you don't mean it at all?”

He doesn't answer her. Doesn't look at her, struggling still to stop his sobbing. He paws at his face again and again, the action desperate, almost frenzied, like he doesn't know what's happening, like he's trying to figure out what to do and he can't.

“Vegeta, can I... can I come closer?” Bulma tries, aware she's taking a gamble. He was in such a dire state now, and she knows doing the wrong thing could have devastating consequences. But she can't just leave him there like that, so obviously struggling, so close to having a breakdown. 

Again he doesn't answer, and Bulma decides she has to try.

She approaches slowly, her hands held out in front of her, trying to make herself as nonthreatening as possible. If was almost ridiculous. She posed no kind of threat to him. Not physically, anyway. But that isn't what this was about, Bulma knows. She'd hurt him mentally, and emotionally. Those were worse, in a lot of ways. She hadn't understood just how much she could hurt him until now.

“I'm coming closer Vegeta.” She says as she moves, keeping her voice soft. “Alright?”

She sees him shake his head violently, his hands reaching up, burying in his hair, tearing at it in what looks like a painful way, and Bulma stops.

“Okay.” She says. “It's okay. I stopped. Okay?”

She waits nearly a minute before doing or saying anything else, just watching him for any sign. He keeps standing there, half turned away still, hands ripping at his scalp. His face is screwed up, breathing continuing erratic and too fast. He's trying to get himself under control, but he's having a horrible time of it, she can tell. She has to do something. Has to get to him, to help him, somehow...

When she feels it's safe, she steps closer again, telling him so, and this time he doesn't shake his head no. Gives no outward sign that he wants her to stop. And so gradually she makes her way to him, until she's within his reach.

“Vegeta...” she says his name again softly, and very carefully she reaches out to him, tentatively laying her fingers against his arm. He's trembling, and she can feel him stiffen, but he doesn't pull away, and so she steps nearer still, until she's right beside him. He won't look at her, turning his face away, still the sounds of him vainly trying to repress his crying slipping from his throat, and she can't just stand here anymore. 

She puts her arms around him, pulling him against her, squeezing him as tightly as she can.

“I'm sorry.” She says, and she can't keep the tears from her own voice. “I'm so sorry Vegeta. I hurt you so much and I didn't... gods, I didn't ever mean to. Please can you forgive me?”

He doesn't move in her hold, his face still turned aside, standing stiff and still, and Bulma presses her face against his shoulder.

“I know you don't feel like you can trust me now. You have... you have every right to feel that way Vegeta. I've got no excuses for what I said. But I never meant... I never meant that talking to you or... or listening to you about your past was any kind of burden on me. It's not. Gods, it never has been. That you ever trusted me enough to... to tell me the things you have only ever made me feel a sense of... of pride. That you felt you could trust me. But I've always just been so afraid that I wouldn't know what to do, or... or what to say to help. That I didn't know enough to help and that I would somehow just end up making it worse for you, which... which I guess I did now, and I can't... I can't explain to you how sorry I am, or how much I wish I could take it all back. I don't want you to be afraid to tell me things now Vegeta. I don't want to lose your trust. I love you so much. I love you.”

“... I D-don't... don't know...” he starts finally, his voice stammering and almost too soft to hear, and Bulma almost hates herself for a moment. “don't know what's true, I don't...”

“It's true that I love you Vegeta.” Bulma tells him. She pulls back, looking him in the face, even as he won't turn to her still. “You can know that. I'm not lying to you. I swear to you I never will. Vegeta...”

She reaches up finally, putting her hands on his face, turning him to look at her. His eyes are red with tears, the tracks of them stark down his cheeks. 

“The answer is yes.” She says, and he looks at her like he doesn't understand. “I'll marry you Vegeta. I'll be your wife.”


	54. Chapter 54

Shouldn't trust... shouldn't trust her... shouldn't...

Doesn't understand what game she's playing... Doesn't understand what she's doing...

Sounds like she means it. Always... always sounds like she... sounded like it when... when she got him to tell... tell her all those... all those things... when he told her about... and thought she... thought it was al... alright because she... wouldn't... wouldn't...

Shouldn't trust her... only... only...

Doesn't know what else to do... Nowhere else to go anymore... nowhere else. Doesn't want to go anywhere else anyway. Doesn't want to leave, doesn't want... doesn't want her to... 

Says she'll marry him. Says she'll be his wife... sounds so much like she means it... Says she didn't mean... didn't mean what she said before... said she was s... sorry...

Can understand that, guesses. Happened... happened to him all the time... Meant one thing, only always came out all wrong and...

Want's... want's to believe her. Wants to trust her. Doesn't...

Doesn't make any sense, that she was lying... lying the whole time they were... doesn't make sense... No reason for her to... and she was... the way she... she touched him and... and talked to him and... doesn't see how all of that could have been a... a lie... Doesn't see... Wouldn't agree to... to marry him if...

“You know you've got a bad temper Vegeta.” Raditz says. Sees him standing there, over Bulma's shoulder. “You overreact a lot of the time. Remember?”

“He's right little man. You've always had that problem. You know how you lose it.” Nappa tells him, standing next to Raditz. “Don't fuck this up. She's the best thing that's ever happened to you. You know that.”

Knows it... 

Knows it... 

Doesn't want to lose it...

Doesn't want to lose her... Wants it... wants this to be real... wants to believe...

“Please Vegeta.” Hears her. Tears in her voice, and clinging to him so tightly. Warmth of her tears against his shoulder. “Please, forgive me. I love you so, so much. I want to marry you. I want that so much. Don't lose faith in me. I'm begging you...”

Can't... can't lose faith in you... thinks... he can't... doesn't matter what his brain tells him, he can't... 

Can't...

Reaches up, wraps his arms around her and feels so... feels so good, he can't... 

Feels her squeeze him back and can't stop the stupid sounds he makes... can't stop the stupid, ugly crying. Presses his face against her shoulder. Too relieved... too relieved to even care if he looks stupid... 

“D-don't lie to me...” chokes out. “P-please... don't... don't lie to me...”

Everyone always... always lying to him... telling him things which weren't... weren't true... Doesn't want... doesn't want her to be like all the rest... all the others who...

“I won't.” Hears her say. “I swear on my life Vegeta, I won't ever, ever lie to you. Oh, my beautiful man. I love you so much.”

Holds her back. Can't say... can't say anything else. Voice trapped in his throat... won't work anymore... Can only hold on to her, terrified to let her go...

Thinks if he ever does the whole world will fall away from under him... 

Thinks then he'll fall forever into nothing, nothing, nothing...

//

“Is he alright?” Panchy asks her daughter as she comes out of the bedroom, closing the door softly behind her.

She had come back with Vegeta a few minutes earlier, the young man clinging to Bulma as though his very life depended on it, and taken him into her bedroom, where they had both been for several minutes before Bulma had finally emerged. Panchy had felt herself taken aback by the state of him. His skin, hair and clothes had been laden with thick dust, the evidence of tears plain by the tracks running down his cheeks, cutting through the dirt, his eyes bloodshot, though he hadn't been crying.

And his hands...

His hands had been a bloody mess, the knuckles torn open and bleeding sluggishly, bruising evident even through the smear of it. 

Panchy had recognized that. Recognized the damage done when someone in an emotional state had struck at something hard with their bare hands. He might even have broken knuckles, she thinks. She would have to take a look herself to know for certain, but...

Oh, that poor young man.

Panchy had known something awful had happened when she'd heard that explosion somewhere in the distance, and then Bulma had come running past her in such a panicked condition, yelling back to her that it was Vegeta before taking off after him.

She had been so relieved when the two of them had come back, more or less whole, but...

Panchy knows that wasn't entirely true. 

Vegeta was... 

Oh, he was such a hurt young man.

Panchy recognized that too. She saw reflected in him the same broken children she had worked with all those years ago. All those boys and girls who had come from such awful circumstances, leaving them wrecked and traumatized, prone to violent outbursts and hysterical states. They had all come from broken homes, or no homes at all, left from a young age to fend for themselves on the streets or within a government system which didn't care for them at all. She recognized all of that in Vegeta, only somehow she knew for him it was maybe even worse.

Bulma had told her some things. She knew he had been a child soldier.

Panchy could scarce imagine anything worse befalling a child. The things he must have seen... must have been exposed to...

She knew also that the man who had forced Vegeta into that life had been of a cruel and sadistic temperament, and though Bulma had shared few details with her, it didn't take much for Panchy to come to the conclusion that Vegeta had suffered abuse at that man's hands. He displayed all of the classic signs of someone who had been severely ill treated. Who had been terribly neglected and denied any sort of privilege or benefit.

It had often come into Panchy's head that maybe she should talk to the young man. Try to offer him some counseling, the way she had to those boys and girls in her days of volunteering. But she'd decided against it, not wanting to interfere in Bulma's relationships. Her daughter knew, if she wanted her help, her mother was always there to offer it.

But there was little doubt in Panchy's mind that Vegeta did need counseling, of some kind.

Her daughter's grim face upon emerging from the bedroom only reaffirms it. 

Bulma had been crying too, her own eyes red and tears drying on her cheeks. She looks exhausted, and unsteady.

She shakes her head.

“Not really Mom.” She answers honestly, her voice horse and quiet. “I really fucked up this time with him. I really... I really messed things up bad.”

Panchy figured something had happened between them. Some sort of fight, maybe, and she nods.

“Is he sleeping?” She asks carefully.

Bulma shakes her head again.

“I don't think... I just... I told him to rest for now, and I left him lying on the bed. I've got to do something for his hands though. They're all messed up. He... I think he might've broken them.”

Tears well in Bulma's eyes, streaming down her face, and she wipes them away.

“Oh, darling...” Panchy steps to her, wrapping her arms around her and pulling her into a hug. “We'll take care of that. He's going to be alright.”

Bulma clings back to her, sobbing openly against her shoulder.

“I d-don't... I don't know if he is Mom!” She cries. “I screwed up so badly with him th-this time. Th... the things I said were so awful, and I didn't m-mean any of it. But he al-always... always takes everything so to... to heart and...”

Panchy shushes her, kissing the crown of her head.

“It's okay darling. It's okay. Just take a deep breath and tell me what happened. Alright?”

Bulma nods, continuing to cry for several, long minutes before she at last seems to compose herself, wiping again at her eyes and letting Panchy go.

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to... to cry all over you.” She says, embarrassed, and Panchy reaches out, cupping her daughter's cheek, turning her face to look up at her.

“What do you think mother's are for, you silly girl?” She smiles softly at her, and Bulma laughs, the sound fragile.

“You're amazing Mom.” She starts, and Panchy waves her off, shaking her head.

“Oh, I'm just trying to help my youngest daughter. So, are you going to tell me what happened that's causing so much drama?”

Fresh tears well in Bulma's eyes at the question, and she begins talking rapidly, almost frantically in explaining.

“Vegeta proposed to me. Or... or he was going to propose to me, but I... I messed it all up. It was just he was acting so weird, and I thought... I-I thought something was wrong, so I started badgering him to tell me what it was, and he got upset, and then I thought it was getting out of control, so I started to tell him I was just worried because he'd been through so much and then we got into a fight because... because he told me I didn't know anything about what... what he'd been through, and so then I got so angry, because I thought we'd built up all this trust between us, and he'd told me all of these... all of these awful things about his past, and I just... I was so mad, and I told him... I... I made it sound like it was some kind of awful burden on me, to have to listen to him talk about his childhood. I didn't mean it like that, gods, I never meant it like that. But... but that's how it sounded. Like I was j-just... just tolerating having to listen to him, like I didn't want to and he... he thought that meant I didn't care... didn't care about him. He took it to mean... oh, gods, Mom, if you had s-seen him out there, he was so... so hurt... he was just... j-just sobbing and h-hitting the ground over and over with his bare... his bare fists. I don't think he even knew what he was doing. I don't think he realized how much he was h-hurting himself. And it's my... it's my fault. It was like he was s-scared of me when I tried to touch him. Like he thought I was going to hurt him, and, oh gods, I just can't... can't...”

Panchy holds onto her, unable to keep the tears from her own eyes now.

Oh, when Bulma had said Vegeta was going to propose to her, for a moment, she had felt her heart leap with such joy and excitement. What had been meant to be a happy occasion, the happiest of occasions, had instead turned into so much heartache, and neither her daughter nor that brave young man deserved it. They both deserved that happiness, that joy. 

“Oh, sweetheart, I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry. This should have been a happy moment. That sweet man wants to marry you!”

“I know.” Bulma cries, wiping at her face again. “I know, gods, I... he was just... just nervous because... I mean, I'm the only woman he's ever... e-ever been with, ya know...? So he was nervous. He probably never... never even asked a girl out before, let alone...”

“I know.” Panchy says, taking hold of her daughter's hands, squeezing them gently. “Oh, honey, I know the circumstances aren't what you would want, but... congratulations. Vegeta is such a good man, and I know you've never loved another boy the way you love him. I'm so proud of the both of you!”

Her daughter can only nod, and Panchy puts her arms around her again, letting her cry into her shoulder once more.

They stand together like that for long minutes, until Bulma at last begins to calm, her tears beginning to dry.

“I... I don't know if I'm crying because I'm happy or sad.” She half laughs, though her voice isn't really in it.

“Maybe a little bit of both.” Panchy answers, her heart aching for her baby girl. “It's okay to be both sweetheart. It's just been one of those days. Now...” she finally pulls back from Bulma, holding her face in her hands. “what do you say we go and see to that boy's hands? Hmm?”

//

“My mom's just here to take a look at your hands baby.” Bulma tells Vegeta, keeping her voice quiet. “Is that okay?”

They'd found Vegeta still sitting on the bed where she'd left him a few minutes earlier, his back pressed against the headboard, knees brought to his chest and arms around them, face hidden against their tops.

He'd looked so small to Bulma in that moment. 

He always had such a huge presence to her. Demanding all her attention whenever her eyes fell on him. But it was like she was really noticing for the first time just how little he was. She's always known, of course, objectively, that he was physically small. But something about his demeanor... the way he was holding himself... it seemed to underscore it then... 

He looked so vulnerable, and abruptly the thought of others bullying and abusing him had come into Bulma's head... Men two, three, four times Vegeta's size, making his torture into their idea of sport.

She can't bear to think of it now, trying to force the thoughts from her head as she kneels in front of him, wiping gently at his face with a wet washcloth, trying to clean some of the dirt away. 

Mom is standing beside her, not moving, waiting, apparently, for Vegeta's okay before touching him. 

Bulma doesn't think she'll ever be able to thank her mother enough for the kind of support and understanding she'd shown Vegeta since his coming here. Nor for her words of wisdom which she had offered every time the two of them had run into problems, some of which had at one point or another made Bulma feel like their relationship couldn't go on.

Her mother's kindness towards Vegeta was something she would be endlessly grateful for.

Vegeta nods weakly, his eyes fixed on the carpet, and Mom takes that as her cue to move forward.

She'd practiced nursing, Bulma knows, back when she'd been in her early 20s, before she'd even met Dad, and was an ace at setting bones, treating wounds and wrapping bandages. She'd been an indispensable help all those times when Vegeta had pushed himself too far and ended up hurting himself somehow.

She kneels in front of Vegeta now, reaching out with her delicate, refined fingers, taking hold of his left hand. His thick fingers, wide, calloused palms and scarred up skin looks particularly rough next to her smooth, blemish free skin. His knuckles are a serious mess. Torn to shreds and still bleeding sluggishly.

Mom carefully pokes and prods at them, feeling the joints and bones. Vegeta's face is tight and stoic, and Bulma can tell he's in pain. But he makes no sound, no complaint or protest. 

“Does this hurt sweetheart?” Mom asks softly, looking up at Vegeta.

Bulma sees him swallow thickly, his face still without any outward sign of expression.

“... A little.” He confesses after a moment. “They're broken.” He adds bluntly.

Mom nods, turning her eyes back to what she's doing.

“Yes, I'm afraid that's the case.” She says. “I suppose we'll have to set and wrap them. But we should probably get these cuts cleaned up first.”

For a moment a look of frustration passes over Vegeta's face, but it's gone a moment later, and he simply nods, his eyes not looking at either Bulma or her mother, locked still on the carpet.

“I'll just go get the first aid kit, and leave you two alone for a moment.” Mom smiles at Bulma as she pushes herself to her feet, and Bulma half smiles back, nodding at her in appreciation.

She waits until she and Vegeta are alone before turning back to him, raising up and leaning in, kissing him gently against his cheek, and then his temple, knowing how he hated it when she kissed him in front of people.

“Are you alright?” She asks. He still hasn't looked at her, and he's even more quiet it seems than usual. After seeing him crying so openly out there in the desert, it has her concerned, that he's again withdrawn.

He nods, his eyes flashing up to her briefly before looking away again.

Bulma wants to press, but she checks herself. Badgering him now was probably the worst thing she could do.

“We should probably get you cleaned up and into some new clothes.” She says instead. “After Mom takes care of your hands.”

“... That... that was stupid of me. I sh-shouldn't have... I wasn't thinking...” he trails off, sounding ashamed, and Bulma takes hold of his wrists, squeezing gently.

“Hey, look at me.” She says, and he hesitates only a moment before at last lifting his eyes to her. They're still red, lines of stress pinching the skin around them, and Bulma has to fight to keep her voice from shaking. “Don't do that to yourself. Don't beat yourself up. What happened was my fault, because I'm my careless, stupid words. Do you understand?”

He shakes his head, looking away from her again, wiping at his eyes.

“No, I... I said you don't know... what I've been through and that isn't... that's not true. That wasn't right of me to say to you. All I ever do is... is tell you fu-fucked up things about my life and then get angry when... when you think something's wrong. I'm so fucked up. I can't... I j-just wanted it to be nice... I wanted to ask you to... I had this s-stupid idea... but I can't even do that right. I can't... do anything right. I fucked it all up again. I always f-fuck it all up...”

Tears burn in Bulma's eyes. She shakes her head, pushing forward and throwing her arms around him. 

“No,” she says. “don't say that. Don't say that Vegeta. It isn't true. Baby, you have to know that isn't true. Oh it hurts me so much when you say things like that. Please don't. Don't Vegeta.”

She cries against his shoulder, unable to help it. She knows this is probably the last thing he needs. He was the one who was in so much pain. Who had had his feelings so carelessly stepped on and betrayed by her ignorance. But to see him blame himself for it was too much for her. She couldn't take it. She couldn't...

“Please...” she begs him again and again, desperate and scared. She doesn't want him to hurt himself anymore. She doesn't want that. Please, god...

And suddenly she feels his arms around her, squeezing her back, his hand resting against the back of her head, his lips pressing against her crown, and he's trying to comfort her, she realizes.

What awful irony, she thinks, that he should be trying to comfort her, when she was the one who had done him such horrible injury.

But she can't convince herself to turn the comfort away, feeling so completely warm in his hold. Not when it feels like it's the safest place in the world to her. 

No place else she'd rather be. 

No place better...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much again to all my readers and reviewers! I saw the new trailer for Dragon Ball Super: Broly, and I'm so excited! It looks amazing and I can't wait!


	55. Chapter 55

Hands burn with pain, sharp, shooting agony as Bulma's mother forces the bones back into place. Keeps his face still. Wasn't anything... wasn't anything compared to what he was used to.

Wasn't anything compared to... 

Couldn't stand to see Bulma cry. Didn't mean to make her... didn't want her to be upset...

Was his fault, felt like... it was his fault. Had wanted... had had all these stupid pictures in his head of... of asking Bulma to... stupid pictures in his head of her smiling, her... beautiful eyes, looking at him soft like they sometimes did and...

Fucked it all up. Always fucked it all up.

Said... said she would be his wife, though. Said yes. Didn't think... after everything...

“She loves you little man.” Nappa tells him over the mother's shoulder. “Don't ya get that yet?”

Forces himself not to react. Turns his eyes away, fixing on the wall.

Did get that. He did. Only got scared for a... for a little while that maybe she didn't... Got angry, like he always did. Got so angry and couldn't... couldn't stop it... couldn't control...

She said yes.

She was going to be... going to be his wife. He was going to be her husband. 

Thought of it makes him... makes his stomach feel tight, almost nauseous. Never thought... 

Never thought he would ever be with anyone. Never thought he would have a... 

A family...

“I'll try and see if I can get in touch with Yajirobi either today or tomorrow, to see if there's any Senzu beans available.” Bulma says. “I know it's not ideal for your to have to wait for your hands to heal...”

Yajirobi... 

Was the fat fuck who had cut his tail off, Vegeta remembers. Hardly ever seen him since... 

Probably good. Would kill the fat fuck, he thinks, if he did. Missed his tail all the time. Was so hard getting... getting used to not having it. Threw his balance off for months, remembers...

“There! All done!” Bulma's mother says. Pats him on the knee, smiling up at him. Could see where Bulma got her looks from, looking at her mother. Was beautiful just like Bulma. “Now obviously, I'm not a doctor, and if Bulma isn't able to get those Senzu beans soon, you should probably go see a doctor. In the mean time try not to do anything too much with your hands until they heal. Hopefully Bulma will be able to get the beans though and you won't be laid up for too long.”

“Th... thank you.” Stammers out. Feels stupid. Hates talking to Bulma's parents. Always feels like... always thinks they don't want him around Bulma...

… Couldn't really blame them if they didn't... 

“Of course darling. Don't mention it! Now,” pats him on the knee again, stands up. “I'll let you two relax for now.” Turns to Bulma, takes her hand. “I'll just be down in the kitchen making lunch sweetheart. If you two feel like eating, come down whenever and they'll be food waiting!”

“Thanks Mom...” Bulma puts her arms round her mother. Hold on to each other a long time and Vegeta looks away. Feels wrong, to look at them... Feels like he shouldn't be there...

Can't help feeling relieved, when her mother goes finally. Just Bulma then... 

“... You wanna take a shower?” Asks him, soft hands grasping round his wrists. “You got pretty dusty out there.” Laughs. Sound weak. Can tell she doesn't really think it's funny.

Shower would be nice, he thinks. Shower with her would be...

“... W... will you come?” Asks. Thinks he must sound pathetic to her. Sounds pathetic to himself. Just doesn't... doesn't want to be alone... right now...

“Of course.” Reaches out, lays her hand against his face. Eyes close as he leans into it... Loves her hands. Loves how soft they are. How delicate. Like all of her. Couldn't understand...

Couldn't understand why he felt so safe around her, when she was so delicate. Knew she couldn't... couldn't fight. Couldn't protect him from anything. Not physically, anyway...

… Made his mind stop buzzing, though... made his thoughts stop raging all the time. Got quiet, around her. Everything got quiet, and soft, and... Didn't feel anxious around her, way he did around everyone else. Didn't feel out of place...

Doesn't remember ever feeling like that. Doesn't remember ever feeling so... calm, before he knew her...

Helps him out of his clothes and feels like an idiot. Shouldn't of broke his hands like that. Hadn't been... hadn't been thinking. Couldn't think... Brain had felt like it was on fire... Crashing pain and hate and fear...

“You're alright.” Hears Bulma say, hands on his face again. Leans in and kisses him. “You're alright.”

Grasps hold of her wrists, fingers loose. Forehead against hers as he nods.

Believes her.

Long as she's here with him... he believes...

//

“There we go!” Bulma smiles, placing the bowl of popcorn down on the carpet beside the game board. “And also I brought these!” She holds up the two bottles of Coke.

Vegeta looks up at her from where he's looking at the playing pieces, oddly fascinated by them, and Bulma can't help but smile more widely.

She'd had the idea to maybe try to teach Vegeta how to play Monopoly, thinking, after all of the awful drama of earlier in the day, it would be a nice way to just unwind and relax during the evening.

Vegeta had picked up on the rules easily, but Bulma has to admit surprise at how good he actually was at the game. 

An hour into play, and he was beating her handily.

She hands him his soda, and he tells her thank you in his quiet voice. He was still seemingly uneasy and embarrassed, she thinks, by what had happened between them. Still wouldn't look her in the eye for more than a few, fleeting seconds at a time. She wishes he wouldn't feel that way. What had happened had been her fault. She doesn't think she'll be able to forgive herself for a long time for being so careless with her words. 

“So,” she starts, lowering herself to the carpet across from him. “you gonna explain to me why you're so good at this?” She asks, grinning at him. 

He glances at her, looking away again at the board. His money was organized neatly in stacks, his select properties similarly compiled together, all in stark contrast to her side, her money piled up all in a jumble and her properties scattered all over the place.

He shrugs, taking a drink from his Coke.

“... I learned a lot about sales and trade while working for the PTO. This game is sort of... similar...” He says, voice almost inaudible. “Frieza never let... let me negotiate any deals or... organize missions of terraforming or anything, but...” he shrugs again, fumbling with one of the game pieces. “I listened a lot... when I was allowed to stay during meetings discussing those sorts of things. I had hoped he would... I mean, if I learned enough I had hoped he might let me... instead of always having to be on purge detail...” he shakes his head, as if trying to rid himself of some bad memory. “I got sick of all that violence all the time.” He says in almost a whisper. “... But I wasn't smart enough to do anything else, Frieza said, so...” he trails off, and Bulma's throat feels tight with sadness and anger both.

“Well Frieza was a fucking moron.” She says bluntly, and Vegeta looks up at her, unable to suppress his surprise. “Seriously Vegeta, you've clearly got a real mind for this sort of thing. For business. Frieza probably lost billions just because of his own, twisted prejudice and stupidity. But what can you expect from a piece of trash like that, I guess.”

Vegeta keeps looking at her, almost seemingly in shock, before finally he glances away again. He mutters out a thank you, like he doesn't really believe what she says, but appreciates her kindness, and Bulma reaches across the board, grasping hold of his forearm and squeezing.

“I mean it Vegeta.” She says firmly. “Remember what I said about not lying to you. I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it.”

He looks at her again, holding her gaze at last for a long moment, before he lays his hand on top of hers, nodding.

“... I know.” He says. “Thank you.”

//

They play well into the evening, Bulma's mom and dad having long since retired, and Trunks fast asleep after Bulma had taken a break to put him down. 

The house has grown almost silent by now, except the crackle of the fire Bulma had put on a few hours ago, thinking it would be cozy with the coming on of the winter months, the weather outside growing colder by the day.

Her and Vegeta had fallen into an easy, silent rapport during the last hour or so, and it amazes Bulma how they were here, now, given everything that had happened that day. How scared she had been. Vegeta was still beating her easily, and she watches him, lying on his side across from her, his head propped up against his palm, his eyes fixed on the board.

He looks so incredibly handsome, she thinks, smiling to herself, his dark eyes seeming to glow almost in the light pouring from the fireplace. 

Those eyes look up at her then, a questioning look.

“... It's your turn.” He says and Bulma blinks, not having realized.

She glances down at the board, and then at her nearly dwindled pile of cash. In her last roll she'd landed on one of Vegeta's numerous properties stacked with hotel's and houses, and that had all but wiped her out.

She can't help but laugh, shaking her head.

“Well I don't think there's much point in going on, is there?” She looks up at him. “One more time landing on any of your properties and I'll be clean out of cash. And it's getting a little late...” Bulma glances down at her watch, seeing it's nearly 1:00 in the morning. “Would it be okay if I forfeit and maybe we head to sleep?”

Vegeta nods, sitting up and starting to help clear the board of all the pieces and cards.

It's strange to Bulma, when Vegeta goes out of his way to help with menial chores like that. He did it all the time, always cleaned up after himself, tidied things up, put things away, and it was just odd, she guesses, knowing that a man of such unbelievable power, a man who was born a prince, was actually willing to engage in what amounted to grunt work, without ever complaining or claiming it was beneath him. It was weird too, because Vegeta was, or... had been, when he'd first come to Earth, anyway, so cocky about his fighting prowess and his strength. But, Bulma supposes, that had likely been a defense mechanism for him. A way to protect himself against the cruelty of others, who for so long had abused and bullied him. There had definitely always been a strain of him trying to convince himself of his words more than anyone else. Like he was trying to tell himself he was better than all of those people, because they had always told him he was less, and, Bulma knows now, in many ways convinced him of that too.

She thinks he'd probably had to do a lot of menial work, growing up in the PTO, basically having to fend for himself, with just Nappa and Raditz for companionship. It must have been rough domestic conditions, with three, battle hardened, extremely macho boys living together in a small, cramped space and with very little resources.

“You don't have to do that Vegeta. Here, let me. You should rest your hands as much as possible.” She starts, reaching out and taking the game pieces from him.

He lets her, looking on as she gathers the rest of the game together and puts it away in the box.

“... Should I go wash the bowl?” He asks, nodding toward the long since empty popcorn dish she'd brought.

Bulma shakes her head.

“Nah, just leave it and I'll get it in the morning. I'm actually feeling pretty tired.”

“... Alright.” He answers and a few moments later he's following quietly after her, to her bedroom... 

Their bedroom, Bulma thinks. He'd been sharing a bed with her more and more frequently now. Almost every night. It was rare for him to sleep in the guest room he'd first occupied when coming here, and Bulma hadn't really been able to express how much that meant to her. How it made their relationship seem, somehow, more real to her.

And now he'd asked her to marry him, and she'd said yes. Despite how screwed up it had all gotten for a little while there... they were going to be married. Husband and wife. That meant Vegeta was her family. Her real family. After the fear of earlier had at last dissipated, and the heartbreak she felt had muted a little, she had been able to realize what she knew was a deep kind of happiness. They were going to be married. She was going to be Vegeta's wife... this man she loves so, so much.

That it had been him to ask her, gods... she'd never truly imagined he would. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she'd thought they likely would never be married. That they would just be a couple who lived together, and had a child together. But that he wanted to make it, in a sense, official... Bulma knew he loved her, even if he didn't always know what that was himself... But this only affirmed it, and she was so overjoyed.

It seems almost surreal. With how everything had started... how Vegeta had first encountered her and all of her friends. How he had seemed so brutal to her at first... so terrifying... and how all of that had washed away with her beginning to know him, really know him, and she had begun to see, most unexpected of all, the sad sweetness of him underneath.

“It's going to rain.” Vegeta says as the two of them are changing into their nightwear. 

“It is?” Bulma looks up at him, seeing him already dressed for bed, wearing only a pair of shorts. He's standing at the sink, holding his toothbrush in that awkward way he always did, like he didn't quite know how it was supposed to work. “That would be nice! I love the sound of rain when I'm trying to fall asleep.”

Vegeta hums, squeezing toothpaste out onto his brush.

He pauses for a moment, staring down into the sink as if lost in thought, the toothbrush held halfway suspended.

Bulma nearly asks him if he's alright before remembering earlier and catching herself. She knows he hated to be pitied, and she'd been getting careless with that lately. Obviously.

Finally she sees him shake his head, as if clearing his mind.

“It used to rain all the time on Vegetasai.” He says softly. “I remember that. I used to... used to fall asleep to the sound of it, like you, I remember.”

“Really?” Bulma asks softly, moving towards him.

Vegeta didn't often talk about his home world. Part of that, Bulma suspected, was probably because he had so few memories of it. Having been taken away so young.

He nods, still staring down at the sink.

“Yeah.” He answers, pausing again. “It never rained on Planet 79 though. I hated that. I remember always... when we would go off to other worlds, if it rained I... I would go out and stand in it, just to... remember...” His stops, voice trailing off before finally bringing the toothbrush to his mouth.

Bulma can't miss the note of almost bitter resignation in his voice then. What sort of world was the PTO's base of operations then? Was it a barren planet? One in which the environment matched the bleakness of the lives lived there? Bulma isn't sure she wants to know such things. But she does want to know more about Vegeta's actual home. To ask him more questions about what, if anything, he remembers about his life on Vegetasai. To ask if there were any happy memories for him, before he was taken away by Frieza. There must have been some. Anything, even. But she's afraid to ask too. Afraid of finding out there was no happiness for Vegeta in life, before coming here to Earth.

More than likely, she knows, that was the reality for him.

She brushes her teeth beside him and afterward the two of them head to bed, getting under the covers. Within a few minutes, Bulma can already hear the rain beginning to patter lightly against the roof above them, and against the pans of the windows, and she smiles to herself, amazed and wondering at how Vegeta was always able to do that.

She scooches up against his side, and feels safe when he wraps his arm around her shoulders, holding her close as he lies on his back, looking up at the ceiling.

For a few minutes Bulma just listens to the sound of his soft breaths and the rain falling outside, before she works up the courage to ask what she'd been wanting to.

“Do you... remember what your home world was like? I mean, do you have any other clear memories of it, like you remembering the rain there?”

Vegeta is quiet for a long moment, and Bulma, as ever, waits for him.

“... I remember my father's palace.” He says quietly. “And... the gardens surrounding it. I remember playing there, when I was a kit...”

“A kit?” Bulma asks. She'd never heard Saiyan children referred to in that way before.

“Yeah, it's... it's what we... what we called very young Saiyans.” He tells her. 

“Oh, wow...” Bulma trails off. There was a note of melancholy in Vegeta's voice, and she thought it best not to push the issue then.

“... I think I remember my mother always... always being there too, in the gardens. I think they they were hers, maybe. But I don't know...”

Bulma swallows, an ache deep in her chest.

“You remember your father though?” She asks carefully.

He turns over on his side, looking at her, reaching out a hand and brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear.

“... Yes.” He answers after a moment. “My mother was gone before I was three years old. But I remember my father... I think about my father a lot... I used to... wonder what he would think... of everything...” he trails off, his eyes shifting away from her.

Bulma reaches out, pressing her hand to his cheek.

“He would proud of you Vegeta. I'm sure.” She tells him quietly, and he looks back to her.

“... My father was a hard man.” He says after a long moment, voice subdued. “A proud Saiyan warrior. He wasn't... sentimental...”

“Maybe not. Though there isn't anything wrong with sentiment Vegeta. But if your father prized strength above everything else, then I know he would be proud of you, and I know that because of how strong you are. Not just physical strength. It's mental, and emotional. You're tougher than nails Vegeta.”

His eyes glance away again, and he doesn't say anything.

Bulma presses tighter against him, laying her head against his shoulder.

“... What about you?” He asks suddenly. Bulma looks up at him, surprised. “What about your childhood do you remember most?” 

“Hitting Goku with my car.” She blurts without thinking, and Vegeta turns to look at her, an almost shocked expression across his face.

“... You...? You hit Kakarott with... a car?” He asks, and Bulma can't help her laughter at the bemused tone in his voice.

“If you can believe it. I was about 16 at the time, and he was 12. That was how we met, actually.”

Vegeta's face is almost scandalized as he sits up, looking down at her like he can't believe it at all.

“I know it sounds ridiculous, but it's true.” She tells him. “I mean, my car was more damaged from hitting him I think than he was.”

Vegeta's eyes are almost comically wide now.

“... Why didn't you tell me this before?” He asks, and Bulma frowns, feeling hesitant. She didn't think he would care, one way or the other, and she hopes she hasn't offended him in some way.

“I didn't think to, I guess. I mean, it didn't seem important or anything. Just a funny story.” She explains, pushing herself up.

“Bulma, you should have told me.” He says to her, and she's starting to feel really worried now, only she can't figure out why he would be so upset over it.

“... I'm sorry?” She starts, not understanding, when suddenly he breaks out into loud, uninhibited laughter. The sort she rarely, rarely saw out of him. She can't remember, in truth, the last time she saw him laugh like this.

“I c-could have... c-could have used that t-to... to f-fuck with him...” he gasps between laughter, slapping his knee like he can hardly contain himself, and Bulma gets it then, her own laughter bubbling up in her throat.

“Vegeta, d-don't... don't hurt your hands!” She laughs, reaching out and grasping his wrist to keep him from hitting his knee again. 

He keeps laughing, his eyes squeezed shut with his amusement.

Bulma doesn't think she's ever seen him laugh so hard at something, and she feels suddenly overwhelmed with joy to see him now. To know she was able to do that for him.

Maybe things would be alright then, she thinks. Eventually. Despite everything... despite all the horror of Vegeta's life.

Maybe, if she could keep giving him small moments like this... things would be alright...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, my deepest thanks to all of my readers and reviewers! You guys are what really make it possible for me to keep writing. I hope you continue to enjoy and if you have a chance, let me know your thoughts!


	56. Chapter 56

“Wake up, little monkey.”

Panic in his chest as he starts awake, Frieza's voice in his ear, sharp gasp pushing past his lips as he thinks... thinks...

Doesn't know where he is, for a moment, doesn't remember...

Everything spinning and has to... calm down... remember...

Wasn't... Wasn't Planet 79. Looks around and recognizes the training room. Was on Earth, remembers. Was...

Must have fallen asleep. Been training all morning. Been nervous, remembers, because...

Starts at the sound of the outer door decompressing. Bulma's there then, smiling at him as she steps into the room.

“Hey there sleepy head!” She says, coming near. “Saw you fell asleep there.”

Blinks up at her, head still hazy and confused. Watches as she comes and sits down across from him, soft hands reaching out to take hold of his.

“You ready to go for your fitting?” She asks, and remembers suddenly. Why he'd been nervous.

Was supposed to go today to get fitted for a suit. Bulma said he needed to wear one for their wedding. Supposed to be in a three months, once the spring rolled around. 

Thought about traditional Saiyan garb. Remembers Nappa showing him designs. Drawing it for him. Kind of clothes their people used to wear. Ceremonial garb. Thought about trying to recreate what he could remember of it, but... guesses there wasn't any point. Bulma wouldn't want to wear that stuff anyway. 

… Old relics from a dead race...

Bulma smiles at him again, squeezing his hands.

“It'll be okay.” She says. “I promise. The guy we're going to see has been dressing my family for years. He's really cool. You don't have to worry about him.”

“... I'm not worried about him.” Says back. Embarrassed. Wasn't worried, just... didn't like anyone touching him. Didn't want anyone's hands on him...

“Alright.” Bulma says. “But it's okay. I'm gonna be with you the whole time. Alright?”

Nods. Feels stupid, but... long as Bulma was there... was alright... Only alright with Bulma's hands on him...

“Okay.” Bulma nods, pushing herself up to her feet. “Meet me in the kitchen in about twenty minutes, and we'll head out?”

Nods again. Doesn't want to go. Only know it'll make Bulma happy and wants... wants her to be happy. 

“Come here.” Reaches her hand out to him. Takes it and she pulls him up, pulls him against her and kisses him hard on the mouth. Ruffles his hair. And then she's gone.

Breathes out. Stay calm. Just stay calm. Had to...

“Better hit the showers little man.” Nappa tells him. “She's waitin' for ya.”

Nods. Knows that. Wanted Bulma to be happy. Was doing it for her. 

Would be alright.

Everything would be alright... long as Bulma was there.

//

“Let's see... 5 feet 3 and ¾ inches... 22 inch waist... 32 inch chest... 36 inch inseam... bicep 10 inches...

“You have remarkable proportion young man. I think probably the best I've ever seen. And I've tailored quite a few athletes and such in my life.”

Bulma can't help but smile at Vegeta's flushed cheeks as Mr. Osaka takes his measurements, just biting down on her tongue to keep from shouting out a 'hell yeah'. That was her man up there, looking unbearably fine in a gorgeous Armani suit. She felt like telling Mr. Osaka that he had no idea.

“Are you an athlete?” He asks Vegeta.

Vegeta mutters something out, too low for either her or Mr. Osaka to hear, and Bulma feels her chest go tight. It was so strange. Vegeta was actually shy. He didn't take compliments well. Didn't seem to know what to do with them. 

“He's a professional fighter.” She decides to answer for him, and Mr. Osaka smiles at her.

“Ah, of course. You're built like a fighter!” He goes on excitedly, turning back to Vegeta. “You know, my son wanted to become a professional fighter when he was younger. Of course, his first lesson didn't turn out so well. I think he didn't realize how much it hurts to get hit in the face.” Mr. Osaka laughs. “Poor boy wouldn't stop crying for at least an hour, all because of a little bloody nose!”

Bulma can see the utter confusion across Vegeta's face. Of course he wouldn't understand that.

A normal person who'd lived a normal life wouldn't begin to understand Vegeta's own either.

It had been plain to Bulma the moment they'd walked in and chosen a suit, and Mr. Osaka had asked Vegeta to stand up on the pedestal so he could take his measurements, that he was extremely uncomfortable, standing stiff and uneasy, his eyes fixed straight ahead, face tight and expressionless. And Bulma could hardly fail to notice the way Vegeta started every time Mr. Osaka put his hands on him.

She knew he didn't like to be touched by other people. And she knew also that he was doing this for her, and it made her feel all the worse, knowing it was such a struggle for him. She had just wanted so much for him to have something beautiful to wear for their wedding. Had wanted so much for him to have something of his own, and for it to be special. Really special.

But if it was going to cause him pain, then it didn't matter. He could just wear one of the suits she'd bought for him before. It would be awkward having to explain to Mr. Osaka, but then, that didn't really matter either. She just wanted to make sure Vegeta was alright.

“I'm sorry, Mr. Osaka, could we... have the room for just a minute?” She asks, seeing Vegeta's frame seeming to wind somehow tighter still.

“Oh? Certainly!” Mr. Osaka starts, seeming surprised but stepping back without question. “Actually I have all of the measurements I need, so I can actually start on the adjustments, if your hu... uh, I mean, if the groom to be wants to step out of the suit?”

“Of course, just... give us a minute and we'll have the suit back to you.” Bulma tries, feeling vaguely anxious. She hadn't missed the look of discomfort pass over Vegeta's face just then, and she can't help the relief she feels when Mr. Osaka happily complies, stepping out of the room and leaving her and Vegeta alone.

Vegeta's relief is also palpable, if the way he slumps down on the pedestal is any indication, holding his face in his hands.

Bulma moves over to him, sitting down next to him and putting her hand along his back, rubbing up and down.

“How're you holding up?” She asks quietly.

He grunts something out in reply, but she can't really make it out for the way his voice is muffled against his palms.

“That bad, huh?” She tries joking and he looks up at her, his face visibly lined in stress and frustration.

“... I'm alright.” He says. “I just... don't like having his hands on me.”

“I know.” Bulma tells him. “I'm sorry. Mr. Osaka doesn't mean any harm though. Ya know? And I think he's basically done. If you wanna take the suit off, I'll go give it to him and we can head out and maybe grab some lunch if you want?”

Vegeta can't quite hide the relief from his face as he nods, standing up and beginning to peel the jacket off of himself.

Bulma can't help but admire him as he does so. Mr. Osaka said it right when he said Vegeta had remarkable proportion. She feels her face warm at how amazing he looks in just the white button down he had underneath, his shoulders and chest broad and tapering down into his beautifully thin waist. She doesn't think she'd ever seen anyone look as good in clothes as Vegeta did, or out of them, for that matter. Something she's reminded of as he takes the shirt off too, leaving him naked from the torso up. 

He finally seems to notice her staring as he's undoing the button on the pants and pulling the zipper down, and she sees him stiffen with that weird shyness again, his face turning vaguely red.

“Wh-what?” He stammers out, and Bulma can feel her lips split wide in a grin.

“I was just thinking about how fucking sexy you are.” She says and can't help but laugh at how his face turns beat red in an instant, the way his eyes avert immediately, fixing to the floor like his life depended upon keeping his gaze there. It never failed to amaze Bulma that a man who had seen so much violence and brutality and cruelty, who had experienced the absolute worst hardships life had to offer, was then so easily embarrassed about things like sex and intimacy. In so many ways he still reminded her of a little boy. And it was such a contradiction, how it made her feel both incredibly sad for him, and how in the same moment she found it impossibly sweet and endearing.

She stands, moving towards him and wrapping her arms around his waist, leaning in close, her forehead almost against his.

“Maybe, after we get home later, to help my handsome man unwind from today's stress, I'll give him a blow job.” She can't resist teasing him, and she feels her lips split into a wide grin at the completely shocked and horrified look which passes over his face. At the way he begins to stammer out.

“Bulma! D-don't... don't say s-such vulgar things in-in... in public!” 

His face is absolutely burning up now, and Bulma laughs, leaning in and pressing her mouth against his.

“Relax sweetheart. Mr. Osaka can't hear us. And even if he could, believe me, he's used to me by now.” 

“Th-that's not the point!” He hisses lowly. “It... it's not de... decent...”

Bulma laughs again. She knows she shouldn't be getting so much of a kick out of how easy it was to embarrass Vegeta, but she couldn't help it either.

She pouts, pretending to be confused.

“But I thought you liked it when I gave you blow jobs?” She says and she thinks she better stop if the look of utter mortification on Vegeta's face is any clue. He looks like he's going to have a conniption. 

“Okay, okay, I'll stop.” She finally concedes. “I'm sorry.” She kisses him along the cheek and he looks away from her, muttering under his breath.

“Come on. Get dressed and we'll head out. You can choose whatever place you like.” She tells him, feeling a little bad about embarrassing him the way she had.

“... Alright.” He answers quietly, any distress gone from his voice, and Bulma smiles at him, reaching out and laying her hand against his cheek.

“Cool.” She says, stepping back, waiting for him to finish.

//

“You're dropping your left hand when you come back around. If your opponent catches your kick, like I just did, you're going to be eating his return fire.” 

Gohan blinks, surprised at Vegeta's fist lying against his jaw, pulled short of actually impacting against him.

He hadn't realized, only... Vegeta is right. He was dropping his left, leaving himself wide open. He was lucky Vegeta hadn't decided to hit him for real.

It was just another in a slew of technical mistakes he was making. Mistakes Vegeta had been pointing out to him all afternoon as they'd sparred together.

It had become routine for them over the last few weeks, the idea having been Vegeta's own. 

He kept telling Gohan he was a prodigy, and that he would consider it a privilege to train him, as well as, Gohan supposes, feeling some sort of obligation towards him for helping him with his reading and writing over these last, few months. Though if Gohan was a prodigy like Vegeta told him he was, he sure as heck didn't feel like it, with all of the errors he kept making, and how often he found himself on the back foot against the Vegeta.

Gohan just didn't feel much passion for fighting, but he thinks telling the older Saiyan that would be something he just wouldn't understand at all. Fighting was everything to him, just like it had been everything to Father. 

Gohan understood needing to fight when a threat arose, but... just in general he didn't have any real desire to train consistently. Still, he appreciated Vegeta's efforts and his obvious interest in him, in wanting to see him achieve all he was capable of.

Gohan didn't have the heart to tell Vegeta no then, and it was difficult too, because, and Gohan knows he could never say this to Vegeta either, the sparring sessions were stressing him out because he didn't want to hurt Vegeta. He felt constantly afraid that he would, especially because Vegeta insisted that Gohan not hold anything back, and it was basically impossible to fool the older Saiyan on that front. He always knew when Gohan was pulling his punches, when he wasn't using the full strength of his ki. 

Vegeta was a better fighter than him by far, knew so much more and had infinitely better technique. In sparring matches like these, he always won easily. But his power wasn't on Gohan's level. Not for now, anyway. Gohan could feel it. He could feel it in the way he was able to block Vegeta's ki attacks with relative ease, or smack them aside. And in the way Vegeta clearly struggled with his own ki attacks, even the ones which Gohan deliberately weakened. More than once Vegeta had ended up knocked unconscious because he hadn't been able to dodge or block one of Gohan's blasts, and Gohan had just about had a heart attack those times, he'd been so terrified he'd really hurt the older Saiyan. He'd been lucky so far with Vegeta coming to fairly quickly and not being seriously injured, but if he ever was, Gohan doesn't know what he would do. Probably die because Bulma would probably kill him.

It didn't help that Gohan had had another big growth spurt in the last couple months and he now stood a good two inches taller than Vegeta. Gohan felt uncomfortably like he was picking on a smaller person, like some horrible bully might. Vegeta didn't seem to notice or care, and he was still physically stronger than Gohan at this point. But Gohan was always looking well down at him now, and it was just weird. It felt wrong or something.

All that wasn't enough to stop Gohan from coming over every week though and helping Vegeta with his literacy. 

He felt so proud of Vegeta for the progress he had made. He had advanced far in a relatively short amount of time, and was already reading with good success at a fourth grade reading level, as well as scoring consistently higher on each of the exercises and tests Gohan set out for him. Considering where he had started, that was impressive, and Gohan made sure to let Vegeta know that every time they met. It made Gohan feel a real joy too, when Vegeta couldn't quite suppress his own pride when he did well at the exercises, Gohan catching him smiling vaguely to himself every now and then.

“Come over here and show me some kicks on this dummy. I want to look at your form.” Vegeta's voice disrupts him from his thoughts and he looks up, seeing the older Saiyan standing by said dummy, watching him with a critical eye.

Gohan glances away sheepishly. He guess it didn't matter that he was taller than Vegeta now. He still felt scared of him.

Coming over, Vegeta asks him to perform a front kick. Gohan can't help feeling self-conscious when Vegeta does this. Even when he didn't think he was doing anything particularly wrong, Vegeta saw things he was doing which weren't right, and he always called Gohan out on them, even physically moving Gohan into the proper form and stance to help him see what he meant. Gohan had never felt more like a child when Vegeta did that. 

He does it again now, moving Gohan this way and that, telling him it's important that he keep his balance when he throws kicks, showing him how best to achieve it. Vegeta was bizarrely patient, and almost kind, when teaching Gohan, and it made it impossible to complain about it. Vegeta was never mean when showing him technique. Goahn thinks maybe it was because it was the one thing Vegeta felt truly confident in. He knew what he was talking about, and he knew he knew. And it was the one thing Vegeta truly loved. He loved fighting. Gohan could see that plain as day. When he was talking about it, or doing it, it was maybe the only time Gohan thought the older Saiyan seemed totally relaxed and almost happy. Well, that and when he was with Bulma. 

“That's better.” He says to Gohan when he tries again. “That's good. Now let's see your turn heel.” 

He puts Gohan through the paces for maybe another twenty minutes before finally calling it quits for the day, and Gohan has to say he feels relieved. He'd been slacking off on his training a lot lately, and wasn't in the best shape. Vegeta's pace was brutal, and Gohan had to admit to himself he felt exhausted at the end of their sessions together.

He's talking casually to the older Saiyan as they exit the gravity room, reminding him of what lessons he should practice over the next week, until their next session together, when Vegeta stops abruptly in front of him, standing still and seemingly frozen.

Gohan is confused, wondering what's going on.

“... Vegeta?” He starts, when just as abruptly Vegeta bolts forward, down the stairs and across the yard.

It's then Gohan realizes what's going on.

Krillin and Android 18 are there again, sitting out on the lawn, and between them is sitting Trunks, laughing and giggling as 18 holds a rattle above his head, shaking it at him.

Vegeta is on top of them in what seems an instant, reaching down and snatching the rattle right out of 18's hand, crushing it to powder in his grip, and Gohan can see immediately that this has the potential to escalate to something ugly, fast.

He dashes across the lawn himself, hoping to stop whatever's about to happen, and can hear Vegeta hissing at 18 with profound hate in his voice.

“Get the fuck away from him!” He says, plainly meaning Trunks. “Don't fucking touch him!”

Krillin leans back on his hands, eyes wide and terrified, mouth agape as he stares up at Vegeta.

18's reaction is exactly the opposite, staring up at Vegeta with a cool, emotionless expression, her brows lifting as if completely unimpressed.

“Excuse me?” She asks, voice flat.

Vegeta is vibrating with rage now, his shirtless frame visibly shaking with anger and emotion.

“I said don't fucking touch him! Get the fuck away!” He answers.

“Vegeta,” Gohan starts, looking desperately around for Bulma. She wasn't in sight, and Gohan thinks she must have left Trunks here with Krillin and 18 to go do something, as last he'd seen her, she'd had the boy.

Vegeta doesn't answer, and 18 suddenly laughs, her head thrown back in seeming amusement.

“God, you're ridiculous.” She manages between her chortles. “You're like some sort of hysterical child.”

“18, don't. Vegeta, don't... d-don't listen to her, just... w-we're sorry. Bulma told us to... t-to look after Trunks for a few minutes while she... she attended to something at the f-front. She said she'd be right back, so...” Krillin starts, but Gohan can see Vegeta isn't even listening to him at all, his eyes fixed with black rage on the android.

“I can't believe that gorgeous woman is actually with you.” 18 goes on, apparently oblivious to Krillin's pleas. “She could have any hot piece of ass she wanted, and for some reason she decides to shake up with your ugly ass. Talk about bad decisions.”

Any hope of deescalating the situation goes right out the window with 18's taunts, and Gohan feels his stomach drop as Vegeta launches himself at her, grabbing hold of her by the front of her shirt and yanking her up off the ground, spinning and throwing her clear across the yard to land hard against the side of the gravity room.

Krillin leaps up from the ground, screaming 18's name, and Gohan can only stand in paralyzed horror as Vegeta launches into the air, his ki spiking shockingly high, hair burning yellow as he goes Super Saiyan, flying straight towards where 18 is only just starting to get up.

Somehow she manages to dodge the blow he throws, if just barely, leaning back as the shot sails just past her, and suddenly the two of them are in a full on fight.

It's horrible and intense and Gohan feels his throat closing up as Vegeta and 18 trade blows, viciously, almost blindingly fast, neither seeming for long moments to have an advantage over the other as they each land and dodge shots from each other.

Krillin is screaming at them to stop, and it's only as the seconds wear on and Gohan can see Vegeta starting to gain the upper hand that his brain seems to kick into gear, his body reacting.

He dashes towards the two of them, only halfway there when he sees Vegeta sweep 18's legs out from under her and shove her to the ground, quickly straddling her hips, his large hands coming down and wrapping round her throat.

Oh... oh god, Gohan thinks. No... No!

It's like something out of a surreal nightmare, Krillin throwing himself forward and jumping on Vegeta's back, beginning to pound against his shoulders and head. Only Vegeta seems possessed, paying no heed to Krillin at all, his face tight and expressionless as he stares with unblinking eyes down at 18 underneath him, strangling her. He's strangling her. Gods, he's...

Gohan closes the distance between them, acting immediately as he reaches out, grasping hold of Vegeta's hands and trying desperately to pry them free. 18 is struggling madly beneath him, her face red and voice chocking frantically, unable to get away.

“VEGETA, STOP!” Gohan cries, horrified. “STOP IT!”

He can't get Vegeta's hands loose. Gods, he's frighteningly strong.

“GET OFF HER! GET THE FUCK OFF HER!” Krillin screams, voice harsh and thin with fear. His blows against the back of Vegeta's head and shoulders are having no effect. It's like Vegeta doesn't even feel them, his face a mask of emotionless fixation. Only his eyes are blacker than Gohan has seen since he first came to Earth. When he'd almost killed father. And he knows then Vegeta intends to kill 18. He's going to kill her, oh gods...

He doesn't have a choice then, Gohan realizes. He had to stop this. He had to stop Vegeta.

Only it's when he just begins to raise his own ki, he hears Bulma's voice behind him, raw with fear just like Krillin's.

“VEGETA, STOP!” She screams, and like some sort of switch going off, Vegeta starts, as if coming out of some awful trance, and Gohan feels the grip of his hard hands come suddenly loose, like a steel vice being undone, and he pulls them back, the mass of bruising already sickeningly evident against 18's pale neck.

She gasps for air desperately, chocking and sputtering, her face contorted in pain, even as Vegeta falls back, away from her, stumbling up to his feet and staggering back, as if he doesn't understand what's just happened, his face confused now. Lost.

Krillin's let go, falling at 18's side and trying to help her sit up, rubbing up and down her back to try and help her breathe.

Gohan can't take his eyes from Vegeta though. The look of puzzlement across his features is bizarre. Terrifying. His nose is bleeding from where 18 had landed a hard shot, his body black and blue from her strikes. 

“Vegeta...” Bulma is there, tears running down her face, voice shaking as she stands apart from him, hesitating, clearly confused and frightened.

He starts again, turning and looking at her, as if only just then realizing she was there. He blinks at her, looking back a long moment, before his face contorts suddenly as if in agony.

“”I'm sorry. I-I'm sorry...” and he turns, running across the lawn towards where Trunks was still sitting, oblivious to everything that had just happened.

Gohan watches as Vegeta stops and scoops the baby up, cradling him against his chest and dashing towards the compound, disappearing inside a moment later.

“Vegeta!” Bulma cries after him, and following fast after Gohan can only watch, dismay and fear raging in his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay in this chapter guys! I haven't had a ton of time for writing the last few weeks. But anyway, hope this made up for it slightly. A little fluff and a lot of angst, as usual, haha. We have to remember Vegeta's spent most of his life being a killer, and unlearning that kind of behavior isn't going to be easy. Anyway, let me know your thoughts and thank you again for all your support!


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